The Wooden Core

I left the quiet house behind and ambled down the lane to the sunlit boatyard by the harbor. Beside the open workshop doors, a thick wooden rigging spool lay resting on its side upon the cedar planks. The hollow center bore was smooth and dark. I circled the perimeter first, keeping my underside flaps close to the warm wood. Shifting my footing, I aligned my left curved claw and guided the tip straight through the tunnel. It fit with gentle friction. When I tilted my flank, the spool rocked upward in a slow arc, rolling just enough to lean its sanded rim snugly against my plush side. It felt steady and wonderfully solid.