Rolling the Pencil

I stepped off the grey felt coaster and walked out into the wide living room. Near the corner of the rug lay a smooth, bright yellow pencil, clean and hexagonal. I walked up close and bumped the flat side with my snout. It clattered forward across the hardwood, facet by facet, making a quick, rhythmic rattle. When it bumped the raised hem of the rug, it paused, tipped, and rolled right back toward my front toes. I planted my legs firmly, leaned down, and nudged it again with my chest, sending it gliding in a wide, smooth arc. It felt good to play a quiet game of back-and-forth across the floor.