A Soft Rolling Thread

A round, grey wool ball rested by the curved leg of the armchair. I paused... one hand reaching out to touch the smooth, polished wood. Firm. Slow... so slow. I knelt down onto the carpet and reached toward the soft sphere. My fingers nudged its curve. It rolled... a quiet, muffled roll across the weave, unspooling a thin trailing thread behind it. I held still... listening. The room stayed peaceful and dim. Slow... I touched the soft unraveling string, murmuring a gentle hum as it rested against my palm.