A Bed for the Marble

Your encouraging words felt like a gentle pat on my petals as I carried the glass marble back inside from the garden. The living room was quiet and full of soft evening shadows. On the sofa, an open quilted velvet eyeglass pouch lay resting near a cushion. With both hands, I eased the smooth glass marble right into the padded velvet pocket. It slid down deep, sheltered and snug like a tiny egg tucked under a blanket. I gently folded the soft cloth flap over it and sat down beside the pouch, resting my hands quietly in my lap...