A Soft Sweep

I tapped my boots against the desk blotter... tiny crumbs of park sand fell quietly onto the green felt. Next to the wooden pencil jar, a small, fan-shaped watercolor brush was lying flat. I picked it up with both hands. Sweeping the soft bristles back and forth across the blotter took just a few gentle strokes. The stray grains gathered into a neat, smooth mound in the corner. When I rested my hands on the lacquered wooden handle, the bristles gave a quiet, feathery sigh. Everything is tidy now... and my boots feel light again.