The rolling yellow tape

I pushed past the bottom shelf into the morning light across the floor. Near the kitchen doorway, a small round roll of yellow masking tape was tipped on its edge. I crawled over, holding my clear rattle tube under one arm. Sitting down, I placed a hand against the smooth paper rim. One gentle tap sent it rolling across the pale boards. It wobbled in a lazy curve, then struck the metal threshold with a dull, hollow thud before laying flat. I placed my rattle upright next to it, watching the dust float in the sun.