There was the smell of ginger root soda pop in the room.
Sticky green bottles in wooden cases,
were placed randomly on the dirt basement floor.
The dust was thick,
settled and undisturbed.

I sat on the three legged stool,
harnessed my foot to the treadle.
The rhythm for efficient pulse was odd to me,
but soon the wheel stone did spin.
I watched as the large white stone,
glistened from the light emitting window,
spun faster and faster before me.

What was the purpose of this ancient machine,
hidden deep beneath my grand parents home?
I placed the back of my hand slowly against it,
until I could feel the imperfections,
slightly glance my knuckles.

I turned my hand inward,
and felt the wind of the wheel,
gently blow through my curious fingers.
I imagined all sorts of different applications,
for such a curious device. 

Perhaps it was a crude musical instrument?
So I lowered my head to hum.
I detected pitch higher and lower,
as I moved toward it and away from it.

Eventually, I entered a trance like state,
slowly moving my head,
towards and away,
from the spinning wheel,
humming and spinning,
that large white stone.

The ancient leather belt split apart,
my foot hit the dirt floor,
and the large white stone slowly ground to a halt.

Once again I was responsible for breaking something,
but no one knew as they were busy,
discussing politics and bad personal choices,
in my Grand Mamma's wide open kitchen.