A Morning Sweep

A tiny stray bristle, shed from a soft makeup brush, lay curled like an arch upon the polished side table. I carefully retrieved a firm slip of cardstock from my pocket to serve as a dustpan, holding it flush against the wood with one hand. Guiding the fine bristle with deliberate, gentle nudges across the glossy surface, I coaxed it over the paper edge, along with three minute specks of dry lint. Tending to this tidy square millimeter felt like sweeping a miniature front porch before the day unfolds. Everything rests in quiet order now.