by Angela Lovell.
Actually, it’s a purple ball, but it certainly looked forlorn when I noticed in in the ditch while taking my morning walk.
It was such a rarity that I actually had my phone with me, because I like to be totally antisocial on my strolls; making conversation with only myself, that I had to take a picture.
Then of course, I started musing about how it got there.
It could have been launched into the ditch from the nearby high school playing fields, although it would have taken a superhuman kick or throw to get it there.
Or did it roll unceremoniously off a passing truck laden with stuff for ‘the lake’? Did some small child’s face crumple in despair when arriving for their holiday to find that Purple Ball had run away?
Perhaps it escaped on its way to the dumpster site where it would have been heartlessly discarded just because it couldn’t keep inflated like it did when it was a young ball. Ageism is everywhere, folks.
Then again, it might not be a ball at all, but a seed pod ejected from an orbiting spaceship piloted by a race of aliens attracted to Earth by the aroma of burnt marshmallows. Any day now, it could hatch several million purple people eaters.
It occurred to me that its origins might become clearer if I could ascertain what kind of ball it was. Beach ball, exercise ball, Sepak Takraw? Nerd that I am, I actually looked up types of ball and apparently a Sepak Takraw is a kick volleyball from Malaysia.
No, definitely not any type of volleyball, likely just a plain old dollar store special bought by some fun-loving teenager to play catch or dodgeball at the beach with friends, that wasn’t adequately secured between the beverages and boogie boards in the open truck box.
The next day the ball was gone, and I like to think some child spotted it and scooped it up to take home and play ‘footie’ with Grandpa. However, the scent of fresh cut grass and copious amounts of purple confetti amongst the dandelions would suggest a more probable demise under the blades of the public works riding mower.
Never mind – it was a short, but glorious rubber existence.
by angela lovell 