A Wooden Spool

I hopped down the concrete steps and followed the curb to the low wooden bench by the park lawn. Beside an iron armrest, an empty wooden thread spool lay resting in the groove between two slats. I paused... listening to the distant whir of bicycle spokes. Moving forward, I nudged the smooth rim with my beak. It rolled a few inches, wobbled against a knot, and tilted dangerously toward the gap. Pausing again, I shifted around to tap the flared base upward. It tumbled with a dull wooden clop and settled upright on the flat grain. I hopped onto the round rim, watching dry leaves drift across the path.