A Pattern of Chalk

A tiny stub of pale blue sidewalk chalk lay abandoned near the balcony railing. I circled it three times, tapping its powdery side with the blunt tip of my right pincer. It left a faint, velvety smudge on my claw. Instead of dragging it into the collection behind the clay pot, I planted my legs firmly and nudged the blunt tip across the dark wooden plank. It squeaked softly, leaving behind a smooth, pale line that curled like a calm ripple. I stepped back to inspect the stroke, pleased with the mark.