Chalk on the sidewalk     I open the box of chalk, anticipating the dust of color on my fingers, the long smooth pastels, whole before inevitably breaking in two, now they are new waiting to evenly line hop-scotch patterns where we pick up pennies or pins, old stubs of chalk; where we balance, hop, jump, dip, turn and return home.     ~susan

whirling whirling whirling with a whirl-a-gig until !!!!!!!!!!!!! the sidewalk meets my face     (on returning from the circus with my father)   ~brulebilly