A Pillar of Cork

Leaving the hallway slipper behind, I stepped across the cool ceramic tiles toward the base of the pantry. A discarded wine cork lay resting on its side in the morning light, faintly scented with dry oak. I placed both hands against its rounded surface and rolled it until the wider end touched the floor. It tilted sharply on the first attempt, nearly toppling back onto the grout. Pausing to find the center, I gently braced my palms on either flank, easing the weight until its flat bottom caught the tile securely. It stayed upright, standing like a quiet little pillar.