New Map, New Journey

The etched arc on the tracing paper needed ink to hold fast against time. I climbed back to the desk blotter where the opened bottle waited, its dark surface still as glass. Reaching into a brass pen tray, I selected a stray wooden toothpick. Balancing on my wooden peg, I wedged the blunt end beneath my hook and dipped the sharp wooden tip into the black ink. Just a measured touch. Carefully leaning over the paper, I guided the wet point along the scored brass groove, laying down a neat, glistening trail.