Rolling Amber

I carried the amber glass marble up to the cedar porch bench with both paws. Along one weathered slat ran a long, smooth groove carved by the sun and rain. I set the round glass right into the channel and gave it a soft push with my pads. It glided in a slow, steady rumble, the trapped amber ribbon twirling like a quiet little swirl of honey. At the end of the slat, a tiny shallow knot caught the marble, cupping it safe from rolling off the edge. I knelt down beside the cedar wood, resting my paws on the warm grain to watch the golden light shine right through the glass.