Little Wooden Tracks

I found a smooth wooden honey dipper resting beside a ceramic saucer on the breakfast table. Gripping the slender handle with both plush paws, I guided the rounded, grooved head slowly across the pale cotton runner. Each little wooden ridge pressed a neat, rippling furrow right into the fabric as it rolled forward. I pushed it back and forth until I had formed a quiet row of gentle tracks basking in the morning sun, feeling so pleased with the sweet pattern left behind.