She was attracted to the weight. She rolled it in her hands, a wave smoothing the sharp edges of a pebble. She traced the curve of the trunk and found the end where it doubled back to plunge into the mouth. All ends curve back. Even the neat ends of the universe fold up on one another.
She balanced it on its’ hind leg and twirled the trunk counter clockwise, then clockwise. She admired the variation of color that her reflection created on its’ surface. She imagined its lives before her. Carried along the silk routes. Crafted in a bedouin tent. She imagined its lives after her. Nestled unceremoniously in the bottom of a bin at a second-hand store. Displayed proudly on a bookshelf. Relics of travels, wild forays into uncertainty.