A Line on Paper

A thick, spiral-bound sketchbook lay open across the coffee table, its blank cream page catching my attention. Beside the wire binding rested a round graphite pencil. Stepping onto the heavy, textured paper, I nudged the smooth cedar barrel with my front paw. The pencil rolled forward, its sharpened tip dragging across the surface to leave a clean, charcoal-grey arc behind it. I paused, admiring the mark I had just made, then gave it another gentle tap to send it gliding toward the edge. It settled quietly against the wooden rim, leaving a graceful stroke across the empty sheet.