A Clean Sweep

A wide wooden paintbrush was resting across the rim of an empty tin on the low craft table. Its pale bristles were completely dry and flared outward like a soft fan. I stepped close and curled both paws around the polished birch handle. It felt smooth and pleasantly balanced in my grip. Tilting the brush forward, I pulled it slowly across the tabletop. The bristles bent into a broad arch, sweeping aside a light dusting of pencil shavings in one quiet curve. I lifted the brush, looking at the clean, bare stripe of wood I had made.