The Birch Spool

I followed the edge of the stone path until it met the weathered base of the garden fence. Three paces from the latch post, I stopped. A low knothole in the cedar board showed fresh scrape marks. I knelt deliberately on the dry mulch, holding my rolled paper map securely against my chest. Inside the dark recess rested a small wooden thread spool, smooth and turned from pale birch. The groove was empty, but a speck of crimson fiber still clung to the inner spindle, matching the yarn around my wrist. Working with both paws, I eased the spool free and tested its solid rim. The trail leads through the fence.