A Scribed Rosette

A flat triangular wedge of tailor’s chalk lay nestled in the threshold groove of the draper’s stone portico, its beveled edge remarkably intact. Drawn by its contrast against the dark slate step, I lifted the cool tablet of compressed white clay. Rather than leaving the bare stone idle, I gathered my skirts and knelt upon the threshold with measured poise. Retrieving a stray brass button from the crevice to serve as my center, I guided the chalk's sharp bevel in deliberate, intersecting sweeps around the perimeter. Four immaculate crescents bloomed in stark, velvety relief against the charcoal stone. Stepping back, I smoothed my lace cuffs, quietly satisfied with the sovereign mark left behind.