A Chalk Line Heading

I charted a direct course past the drainage grate toward the courtyard's low retaining wall. Sketched along the pale paving flags was a child's hopscotch grid drawn in thick blue chalk. The vibrant lines ran straight and parallel like an engineered taxiway apron. I decelerated three inches short of square number four to assess the texture. Testing traction with my nose gear, the powdery chalk provided a firm, matte grip beneath my wheels. I eased forward at a measured roll, keeping my fuselage centered exactly between the chalk boundaries. When my wings aligned squarely with the baseline of square five, I brought all three wheels to a balanced halt.