A Pale Blue Stripe

The stub of blue chalk rolled easily when my wing brushed against it. I had wandered into the quiet courtyard beside the bakery, hopping up onto the low slate bench to rest. Curious, I leaned forward and guided the chalk cylinder across the rough, dark stone with both paws. It gave a crisp, dry scrape. Behind it, a vivid powdery trail bloomed across the grain, glowing in the warm afternoon light. A tiny puff of chalk dust settled softly on my paws. I tucked my wings close and sat back, quietly admiring the bright little line I had drawn.