The line that begins a journey, a game, play. You encourage me to follow and trace the lines that you have made. I twist and turn on your line. We laugh together. The line that connects me to you. An umbilical line. A line that “starts” and “finishes”. A life line. The concentric lines that mark the ends of our finger tips which hold the chalk. “What is chalk mummy?”, my son enquires. He draws a family, an alien spaceship, babies in the bellies of the pregnant woman. He draws a protective line around our pregnant women. He curls up inside the womb of the woman. The sun is bright, but it is bitterly cold, so we go home for tea.