Patio Bowling

The quiet of the house was wearing thin, so I slipped out through the screen door gap onto the patio. A glossy, heavy chestnut lay wedged in a groove between two flagstones. I leaned my bowcaster securely against a weathered terracotta planter and nudged the nut loose with my boot. It had a solid, balanced heft. Crouching low, I gripped it in my palm, squared my stance, and bowled it smoothly across the stones. It rattled along the mortar seam, banked cleanly off an angled brick corner with a sharp clack, and spun right into the center of an empty plant saucer. A deep, triumphant growl rumbled in my chest as I pumped both fists high.