The Spinning Wheel

I walked through the propped door of the harbor pottery workshop, where the air smelled of damp river clay and cool stone. Near a sunny low workbench, a heavy cast-iron banding wheel stood on a stout pine pedestal, holding an unglazed terracotta plate. Stepping up onto an upturned drying crate with measured care, I paused to study its round geometry. Rather than bracing it still, I reached forward and gave the iron rim one firm, deliberate push with my right forepaw. The heavy turntable began to glide in a slow, effortless spin. I settled my chin against the table edge, watching the etched concentric rings blur into quiet, rhythmic circles.