A Matter of Slack

A wooden bookmark tassel hung motionless over the lower shelf ledge. Below it, a stray blue yarn thread lay curled on the parquet floor. I knelt down. The braided tassel had one cord hanging three millimeters longer than the rest, breaking its rhythm. I did not pull. Instead, I used my thumbs to gently nudge the lower knot upward, easing tension out of the loop. The silk fibers slid into alignment with a faint rasp. Now both cords hang parallel, perfectly flush with the wood rim. Small errors yield quickly to patience.