The Whirring Top

I jogged down the alley to the neighborhood pocket park and climbed onto a sunlit wooden bench. A carved wooden spinning top was resting on the cedar slats beside a loose length of cotton cord. Curious to test its balance, I wound the cord carefully around its grooved wooden body. With one steady pull of my arm, the top dropped onto the smooth timber and spun into a blurred crimson swirl. It hummed softly, drifting across the wood toward the open edge. I dropped into a cross-legged sitting stance directly in its path. The spinning top nudged gently against my round tummy, steadying its wobble against my belt like a tiny whirring engine before settling flat.