There is a small spool of grey thread in my bedroom.
I don’t know from where it arrived.
I don’t know to whom it belonged.
I don’t know what it is doing in my house.
What I do know is the spool of grey thread seems to have grow feet of its own, every day in the hands of someone new. Two nights ago, it arrived in the fingers of a puzzled woman who asked, “What is this?” as she walked into my room, slowly turning it in an attempt to roll up the thin thread stretched across my bed and going behind my pillow and ending at the top of the dresser.
I frowned and wondered how it left my room. I found it on the floor yesterday and tossed it to the dresser.
Last night, my grandson jumped with joy as he wrapped it around his arms and fingers. An annoyed adult told him to “come here” and the boy wiggled as the man worked to release the child’s fingers from the threads of grey.
This morning, the thread had again come lose and strayed from its spool and onto the wheels of a remote control race car. Seeing this caused me to speak up and ask how the spool of grey thread had come to be in our house. I reached for the remote control car, unwound the grey thread and put it back on the spool.
I shook my head as no one answered me and I put the spool into a flower pot on the dresser. It did not have a flower. It was filled with other knick knacks no one could explain.
I did not notice the tiny piece of thread sticking out from the edge of the flower pot. I fear who it will trip tonight, when I get home.
If I were an alien from another planet, I would certainly visit this Earth camouflaged as a squirrel or perhaps, a role of grey thread.