A Walk Down the Chalk Line

My plastic feet stepped onto the start of the chalk stripe by the thimble gate, feeling the dry, gritty drag against my soles. It was night, time to bring our pea back to resting position. Instead of counting out loud, I let the powdery friction guide every step. The chalk gripped my feet smoothly across each gap, ringing five quiet metallic clicks from the washers before my toes touched the raised four-holed button. I knelt down, lowered the pea into the yellow cap with a double clink, and swept my curved hand under the arch to pat the little cat. Our path is complete, and the night is quiet.