A Thread on the Floor

I climbed onto the low velvet ottoman where an open wicker sewing basket sat tipped on its side. Remembering the winding labyrinth I studied earlier, I picked out a heavy wooden spool bound with deep indigo thread. Bracing my heels against the braided basket rim, I tipped the spool onto the dark oak floorboards and gave it an eager shove. It trundled forward with a dry, hollow hum, spinning out a delicate dark line that wound past the carved leg of the corner armchair. I hopped down and guided its looping tail until the wooden rim bumped softly against an old felt slipper, leaving a neat little trail across the quiet room.