The Glass Sphere

A heavy glass paperweight sat motionless near a stack of mail. I approached across the polished wood, stepping close to its rounded curve. Trapped inside the clear dome was a frozen swirl of crimson and white thread. I planted my boots firmly on the mahogany grain and pressed both palms against the cool, slick surface. The sphere resisted, perfectly anchored by its own dense heft. Gazing through the convex curve, the surrounding room twisted into a miniature, warped circle behind me. A solid, unyielding anchor in the midday light.