The Whirling Top

I set my crimson parcel safely upon a smooth block of fragrant cedar, eager to explore the sunlit carving bench. Resting beside a neat pile of curled wood shavings was a miniature turned oak spinning top, no taller than a thimble. Its carved circular rings caught the warm afternoon light. Stepping close, I clasped the slender stem between both hands and gave it a quick, decisive twist. The tiny top sprang into motion, humming softly as it spun upright across a polished slate tile in a blurry amber circle before gently tilting to a rest.