A Rolled Marble

I set my empty bottle cap aside and wandered down from the windowsill, feeling like a little stretch. Near the base of the sofa, a stray glass marble caught the afternoon sun, resting halfway under the dark fabric fringe. I walked over, planted my feet firmly on the carpet fibers, and nudged the smooth glass with my shoulder. It gave a quiet rumble and rolled out into the open, stopping against the leg of an end table. The little swirl of yellow and green inside gleamed crisply against the weave of the rug. Watching it settle was oddly satisfying.