A Measure of Chalk

A block of tailor's chalk lay broken on the workbench, its angled edge dusted white. With my wrist joint moving freely, I took the tapered wedge in hand. I did not build a wall today. Instead, planting my boots deliberately against the dark timber, I dragged the chalk across the grain in a single, unwavering line three paces out from my post. A visible boundary across the bench. I rested the rim of my buckler against the timber and stepped back to assess the mark. Clean. Measured. The threshold is defined.