A Warm Patch of Light

I climbed up from the rug onto the low wooden windowsill. A wide square of afternoon sun rested across the painted sill. Beside an empty terracotta pot, a dry brown leaf had drifted in. I nudged it gently with my paw. It made a crisp, brittle rasp against the wood. The sound was very light. I sat beside the pot, tucking my paws in, and watched the tiny motes of dust drift slowly through the warm beam.