The Rotating Grid

I wandered across the cedar woodchips toward the low platform of the playground tower. Mounted between two sturdy timber posts was a vertical grid of chunky yellow cylinders on metal rods. I paused, tilting my head to study the worn black markings. Kneeling right beside the bottom corner block, I rested both hands against its ridged plastic edge. With a firm, measured push upward, the cylinder tumbled smoothly on its metal axle with a soft, hollow rumble. I caught it just as a crisp black cross rotated cleanly into view, perfectly upright. Aligning that single symbol brought a very quiet, tidy order to the whole row.