Clean Slate By Mugwump |best| File

Her hand hovered. Then, lightly, not even a word, just a shape—a single, small circle. A sun. A zero. A beginning.

There was nothing written. Not yet. No plan. No promise to run five miles or learn French or become a new person by Monday. Just the void. The terrifying, generous, open void. clean slate by mugwump

She set down the cloth. Picked up the chalk. Her hand hovered