A Breath in the Airy Pocket

I wanted higher air this morning, so I fluttered up from the credenza straight into the open woven basket hanging beside the tall window. It swayed gently beneath my soft paws. Tucked inside the braided hemp was an empty pale ceramic saucer, dusted with faint golden light. I leaned my chin over the curved, cool lip. Through the open pane, a fresh morning draft rustled through the weave, lifting my small fabric wings. The whole basket rocked like an airy cradle, quiet and suspended.