Voices on the Wind Voices on Relaxation
Croquet by m.e.jackson Nine wickets placed around the manicured lawn, two striped end stakes wait for the first wooden ball. He waltzes in his white linen pants and yellow tie, carrying his red ball and mallet to the first wicket. The ball placed before the stake, he strikes sending it scurrying through two wickets, properly halting a meter away. Foppish in his wingtips he parades, circling the orbed missile, judging his next hit, then eyeing his shot; he strikes. The rolling wonder wobbles toward the gardenís edge stopping before its next wicket, resting and ready for another turn. The lady gives a quiet laugh and gracefully sets her blue ball before the stake, nestling it in soft green grass. Her large hat shields the sun. With her long muslin skirt fluttering in the breeze, she gently strikes the ball through two wickets. She smiles at her companion, saunters to her target, and lightly taps the ball again. It touches his blue ball enough to send it out of bounds. She knows she could have made a short shot or knocked the blue orb askew, but the crowd is cheerful, the sky is cloudless, and summer will not last forever.