A Quiet Rolling Nut

I brought the dry nutmeg from the kitchen, rolling it slowly over the wooden seam into the living room. Near the warm iron base of the radiator, a discarded wooden domino tile lay face down on the floorboards. I paused, watching the faint evening shadows gather around its painted edge. Very carefully, I nudged the hard nutmeg with both paws until it bumped softly against the timber block. It didn't bounce away. Instead, it nestled right into the carved recess between the wood and the warm floor, releasing a faint whiff of warm, sweet bark into the still room. I tucked my feet in close and rested my chin against the smooth tile, listening to the radiator hum quietly into the night.