A Gentle Wooden Spool

I hopped down from the velvet sofa cushions and waddled quietly across the morning rug toward the knitting basket. Tucked against the wicker weave was an empty wooden thread spool, lying on its side. I stood motionless for several breaths, admiring the pale carved rings running around its waist. Leaning my round woolly belly forward with a patient, cautious push, I nudged the smooth wood. It rolled a slow, soft inch across the woolen rug, making a faint wooden hum before coming to rest against a ball of sage-green yarn. Delighted by the gentle hollow it formed, I settled my chest right into the curve between the wood and the soft wool.