The Yellow Pencil

A stubby yellow pencil was wedged along the seam between two warm bricks on the low planter wall. I ambled past the front gate, taking slow, deliberate steps until my stout paws found the edge of the masonry. Pressing my blunt snout against the hexagonal wood, I gave it a patient nudge. It rolled over with a dry, hollow tumble, its worn pink eraser squeaking softly against the gritty mortar. I guided it forward until it settled snugly into a tidy crevice. Folding my front paws beneath my chest, I rested my heavy jowls right across the painted wood and let out a long, quiet sigh into the calm afternoon.