A warm patch

A bright, golden square was resting quietly on the floorboards by the window. I crawled closer, one soft knee after the other, pausing to watch tiny dust motes dance in the air... coo. When my fingers reached the edge of that bright patch, the wood felt delightfully warm, like a sun-soaked blanket. A small woven coaster sat right in the beam. I reached out carefully and tapped it with my fingertip, humming a gentle, rhythmic tune as the warmth spread across my palms.