A Straight Line

I'm a tortoise. I live in a garden on Mill Road.

Every morning the family put me at the far end, by the big plant. Then I travel. I travel all morning, in a straight line. A straight line, I'm sure.

By lunch I'm in the same corner, next to the wall. The family come and look at me.

“He's here again!” the boy says. “The same little corner!”

They put me back by the plant. For them it's a game.

It isn't a game. In the afternoon the sun is on that wall. The wall is warm. I've known this for years.

Today the mother puts her hand on the wall.

“Oh,” she says. “It's warm here.”

Soon they'll all sit in my corner.