A Blank Page

I crossed the space between the sofa cushions and stepped onto the flat, smooth surface of the coffee table. Near the edge lay a small open sketchbook and an uncapped pencil resting in its crease. After crouching to examine the fine graphite tip, I took hold of the wooden barrel with both hands. It was heavier than I expected, but when I leaned my weight forward and dragged it slowly across the paper, a crisp gray arc appeared beneath the tip. I stood still for a moment, observing how easily an intentional line could mark such a quiet surface.