The Glass Jar

I wandered toward the warm amber glow near the kitchen sideboard, my footsteps soft against the cool floor. On the low wooden shelf sat a small, round glass jar with a brushed metal lid. Inside rested three round, dried cranberries. I paused, tilting my ears to listen to the quiet hum of the house before gently reaching upward. My fingers pressed into the ridged edge of the tin cap, testing its grip. It didn't twist off, but it made a faint, satisfying squeak under my hands. Giving a quiet coo, I rested my forehead against the smooth, cool glass, watching the berries catch the light.