The Thread and the Tile

A coarse black cord hung caught on an iron nail beside the shaded porch steps. On the flagstone below, an old ivory domino tile lay face down. I knelt without haste, watching the quiet drift of dust across its surface. Moving slowly, I eased the stiff cord free from the iron point, keeping the frayed ends intact. I turned the tile upright; three recessed black pips stared out from the pale surface. Deliberately, I wound the dark cord around the tile’s central groove until it held fast. The pale stone gripped the rough fiber with steady calm. I laid the bound token on the riser.