The Sliding Beads

I noticed an old miniature wooden counting frame resting between two heavy books on the bottom shelf. Its brass wires held neat rows of smooth, dark timber beads, quiet and still in the lamplight. Kneeling down on the polished oak shelf, I reached out with one plush paw and gently tapped the first round bead. It slid smoothly across the brass rail, coming to rest with a soft, hollow wooden click against the frame. Moving with unhurried care, I guided each bead across its wire one by one, listening to the gentle rhythm echo softly into the quiet evening room.