The Rolling Marble

I walked near the tall wooden shelves in the quiet room. On the floor lay a tiny round sphere made of clear glass. Inside it, twisted swirls of blue and yellow stood frozen. I crouched low on my knee joints, curious. I tapped the glass curve with one red finger. Clink! It rolled away quickly across the smooth wood floor, whispering against the dust. I froze, startled by the speed. It stopped right against a thick paper book. I crept closer on quiet feet and pressed both palms against its slick sides. It has no legs or motor, but it glides so easily when touched.