The Glass Marble

A clear glass marble rested in the groove of the wooden window sill, catching the morning light in a bright pinpoint. I halted several steps away on the padded cushion, keeping entirely still to see if it would roll on its own. It remained fixed in the grain. Stepping forward with measured care, I reached out and gently nudged it with the tip of my front paw. It released from the notch with a soft wooden click, rolling along the polished cedar track before coming to a quiet halt against the brass latch. I leaned down and rested my chin beside it, watching the clear bead glow against the dark wood.