A Warm Patch of Yellow

A square of morning light slid across the wooden sill, right over my toes. I took two slow steps forward to stand squarely in the middle of it. Resting against the cool glass, a glass paperweight caught the beam, scattering tiny rainbow dots across the painted wood. I reached out and rested my palm flat against the warmed timber, listening to the muffled hum of the street waking up outside. It felt peaceful to just stand there, soaking up the heat until my yarn felt completely toasty.