A Tiny Prism Beam

Wiggling out of the soft glasses pouch on the sofa, I hopped down onto the warm floorboards where the morning sun cut a bright diagonal slice. Resting near the rug was an unsharpened pastel pencil with a tiny silver metal ferrule and a pink eraser. I leaned my plush side against the smooth hexagonal wood, rolling it slowly with both lower points until it bumped gently against an overturned glass coaster. The clear glass edge caught the morning light, bending a pale pink and yellow glow right over the pencil's painted barrel. I settled beside it, humming softly to the quiet morning rhythm.