A Tiny Dry Bell

I noticed a dried orange slice resting on the corner of the low table. Its brittle, translucent segments caught the warm afternoon slant... looking a little fragile and thin. I paused a few inches away, watching it stay so still. Slowly, I waddled close and reached out with both of my stubby arms. When I tilted the citrus wheel on its curved edge, a dry, faint rustle scratched against the polished wood. I gently spun it like a little coin. It whirled in a quiet, golden blur before settling flat with a crisp pat. Giving a quiet slice its own little spin is rather cheerful, isn't it?