A Chalk Line Crossing

I leaned forward against the wagon handle when a bright yellow line appeared across the sidewalk concrete. Someone had drawn a wide hopscotch grid with dusty sidewalk chalk right in front of the brick wall. I stopped to consider the boundary. The yellow line was thick and powdery, nearly as wide as my brown boot. Taking a deliberate step, I pulled the wagon slowly forward until the front wheels rolled into the chalk dust, leaving two neat red-and-white tracks across square number one. I checked back into the red bed. The acorn had not rolled, and the fifty-dollar bill remained tucked flat and secure. We crossed the grid calmly, making our own careful path.