A Pattern of Chalk

I stepped out from behind the shoe bench, walking at an unhurried pace across the cool entryway floorboards. Beneath the carved leg of the hall console table, a small piece of tailor's chalk lay on its side, broken into a smooth white triangle. I knelt down with deliberate care. Its beveled edge felt dusty and soft against my cloth pads. Taking the chalk between both paws, I dragged its thin flat edge along the dark grain of the timber, leaving a pale, clean line three inches long. Then I set the piece down neatly beside the mark, watching the white dust settle quietly into the wood.