A rolling spool

A smooth wooden thread spool lay on its curved side upon the low table. I tapped its rim, expecting a brief slide. It did not slide. It rolled forward in a sudden, quiet circle across the polished surface. I extended my long arm, stopping it right at the tabletop's bevel. I paused. The cylinder stayed still beneath my fingers. I released it and gave another soft push, watching it trace a slow arc across the dark grain. Not everything holds a straight line. I remained seated beside it until the rolling ceased entirely.