A Clean Slate

Stretched my plush legs and ambled over to the foot of the coffee table where the late morning slant cuts wide. A thick rectangular drawing pad was lying half-open on the floorboards, its top page stark white and completely untouched. Right in the crease sat an oversized triangular wooden highlighter, lacquered flat safety-orange. No hurry at all. I picked up the hefty triangle with both hands, took an unhurried beat to eye the geometry, and laid its straight beveled edge flush against the binding spiral. That bright neon wedge locked the crisp white boundary in place, slicing a tidy diagonal shadow across the blank sheet. Slouched right back against the table leg, heels kicked out, letting the morning breathe.