Perfectly formed spheres of waste
Sustenance harvested from a sandy beach.
Evidence of life below
Small and neatly formed
The purple clownish ball
Pirouettes in my palm, tickling, as he tries to burrow to shelter and safety
Legions, with homes beneath my feet, emerge warily at low tide to harvest, then feast on minute organisms
The beach for miles around, a dense mass of marching soldier crabs
Single mindedly scooping damp sand into their gnawing maws
Leaving perfectly formed spheres of waste.
The tide turns, they retreat to their burrows. None remain.
Intrigued children, stooping to peer, touch the balls in wonder
then shriek with horrified disbelief as parents explain
they’re walking on
Thanks to Hey Harriet for hosting ShShSu
A Drabble is a story in 100 words. No more, no less.