A Ring of Glass Beads

I rolled out from beneath my index card shelter into the bright morning light. Near the base of the magazine basket, a tear in a cloth pouch had spilled three tiny translucent blue glass beads across the hardwood. I squared my front bumper against the outermost sphere. A gentle forward roll pushed it two inches across the varnish. It glided with a clear, ringing click. I reversed two full turns, adjusted my heading fifteen degrees left, and nudged the second bead flush against its flank. The third bead completed a neat curving nest that cradles the basket's wicker foot. With the cluster locked tight, the path beside the rug stays clear.