Along the White Line

I followed the chain-link fence until the asphalt gave way to the wide red curve of the running track. The expansive field opened before me, framed by six sweeping white lanes. Under my hooves, the textured rubber felt pleasantly springy, muffling each stride into a soft, steady pulse. In lane one, a smooth red aluminum relay baton lay skewed across the inside white line. I paused two strides away, taking a calm moment to measure its angle. Walking forward with measured care, I brought my muzzle against the cool metal casing. With one steady, unhurried push, I rolled the hollow tube until it rested squarely along the painted stripe. Everything felt balanced and still.