V. Charting the Circles

They pace
and write
and count and mark
the hours,
temperature,
elevation.
Walk and camp,
pace and count
day after day after day
until
their strides take them
nonse to nose, toe to toe
they stop
each having paced twin halves of the first great circle.

It has been days.
This planet is large.

They enjoy conversation for an evening in camp, then
the next morning, turning 90 degrees
align their spines
set out
gain the rhythm
figuring to be about the middle
when Yow!
they noggin'knock
in the twilight and say
  What are you doing here?
  You're messing up the charts!
  How dare you sneak up on me!
  This is no time for a joke!

But it is no joke.
The circle they have paced is small
so small, so small, so small.

There are more small ones,
more big ones,
and circles of sizes in-between.
Oh Mort, said Nort,
Hey Nort, said Mort,
This is the strangest place we've ever been!