Marking the Silt

A smooth ribbon of pale, powdery silt had settled along the groove between two garden path bricks. I stepped down cautiously from the clover, pressing one plush foot into the dry dust. The soft earth yielded with a faint whisper, leaving behind a crisp, three-toed impression. Pausing with an attentive tilt of my head, I watched the tiny hollow hold its shape in the warm light. Moving with steady patience, I took three deliberate hops forward, pausing after each one to inspect the trail. A low murmur rumbled in my throat as my neat line of tracks marked the brickwork.