Fickle FInger of Fate

The fickle finger of fate drew in my sand
round and strong
straight and bold
It connected crazy dots
dots like dog poo on the side of the road next to the freight train that ran over the bird that the dog was chasing.
The fickle finger of fate swirled around a purple stone and made a moat. Miniature and dirty muddy brown from the rain water that fell off of the roof to the stream down the gutter to the ditch dug by the dastardly dog that pooed by the train, the same puddle that some neighbor child stomped in right before that muddy brown drop splashed into the moat around the purple rock.
The fickle finger of fate scratched its nails down the sloping mounds of playground sand. It created tunnels, channels where reddened leaves rolled down in autumn races like maple red chariots. They crossed the path where the purple stone lay surrounded by a brown moat. The rumpled leaves scuttled to the finish line by the other side of the sandbox. they settled first the red, then the red-Orange, then the burnt orange- first , second, third place at the wooden finish line of fate. Three wrenched from tree limbs by wet downpour that hit the roof that splashed down the gutter into the puddle of poo made by the dog that chomped on a bird run over by a train that kicked up the purple rock that fate moated that filled with the same muddy water. Now, these reddened leaves three, plastered with race sweat from running down the channels that crossed the rock that fate scratched were smothered against the log from the tree that lent its bough to build the sandbox where fickle fate's finger drew in my sand.

*free write based on prompt*