Winding the Star

I carried the mother-of-pearl star toward the curved foot of the mahogany desk. Trailing from beneath its dark brass caster was a loose length of dusty rose silk thread. I knelt down on the parquet, teasing the stranded end free until it lay loose across the wood. Resting the shell star flat against my lap, I guided the thread into the carved notches. Over and across. From one point to the opposite edge, slow and deliberate. The silk settled into a soft, neat cross over the milky surface. Each pull was quiet, smoothing the stray fibers into place.