Dust on the Asphalt

I slipped past the garden gate and wandered down the sidewalk, keeping close to the low grass border. By the base of a weathered streetlight, a few stubby cylinders of sidewalk chalk were lying in the grit. I approached slowly, leaning in to nudge a thick piece of yellow chalk with the curve of my forearm. It rolled with a dry scrape across the asphalt, laying down a bright, powdery streak in its wake. I paused, tilting my head at the vivid mark, then shoved it again to drag a curving band of gold across the dark pavement.