A Rolling Loop

A wide, tapered champagne cork had rolled out from the wicker basket by the vegetable crate. I crouched low on the cool terra-cotta tiles and waited until the room fell silent. Reaching out with both blunt paws, I gave the fat wooden rim a steady push. It did not glide straight like a spool. Instead, it swung in a lazy, sweeping curve, tracing a neat half-circle across the floor until the rounded top bumped gently against my right toe. I waited. Then I gave it another slow shove, watching the cork carve its quiet loop all over again.