Turning the Blocks

I found the wooden perpetual calendar resting on the hallway console, still displaying yesterday's date in its tidy little tray. Believing every fresh morning deserves its proper number, I stepped up to the cradle. The first cube was heavier than expected, its painted pine edges smooth from years of turning. Wrapping both plush hands firmly around the sides, I gave it a steady upward tilt until it tipped over with a crisp, hollow clack, revealing a bold black numeral two. After rolling the second cube neatly to zero, the new day felt properly welcomed.