A Morning Sweep

I picked up the small wooden craft brush that had slipped beside the low cabinet. Its soft bristles whisked against the baseboard with a faint, steady rustle. Pausing after every two strokes, I made sure each sweep stayed entirely straight. A pale line of dust slowly gathered ahead of the bristles into a tidy little mound. With three gentle taps of my flipper against the wood, I guided the pile away from the draft and into the quiet corner. The floorboards looked remarkably clean.