a smudge

The sidewalk is one that I see daily. My feet carry myself and my book bag over this cement daily - maybe multiple times during one day or hour. Therefore, my eyes have become quite familiar with the strange scratches and markings on this particular slab of cement. One particular mark that never ceases to captivate me is that of a vibrant simmering smudge. I fancy that it is the last remains of a shooting star that chose to be forever implanted in my sidewalk and in my life. Sometimes, I think it was where a newborn fairy skipped over a butterfly and then took a swift tumble. Other days, it's a poop smear of a squirrel who ate food from the Dining Commons that just didn't agree with him. My smudge can be whatever I want it to be. Welcome, September.