A Crisp Morning Clack

Strolled away from the quiet living room and made my way down toward the local bakery on the valley road. Right on the outdoor cedar bench sat a small wooden chalkboard menu propped against the post, with a fat piece of yellow chalk resting in the grooved wooden tray. Looked ready to move. Keeping my milk carton firm under my left arm, I walked right up, squared my stance on the sun-drenched boards, and gave the chalk an easy sideways flick with my right knuckle. It tumbled down the groove with a sharp, satisfying clatter before settling snug against the rim. Balanced easy, letting the morning mountain air roll by.