A Speck in the Beam

I peeked out from the edge of the woven basket this morning. The room was very still, but a tall, slanted beam of golden light had fallen across the wooden floorboards, reaching all the way to the low windowsill. Inside the light, tiny golden flecks of dust were drifting and twirling softly. I stood quiet for a moment, watching them float. Slowly, I stepped forward across the floorboards until warm sun pooled over my paws. I reached up gently toward one shimmering speck as it drifted by. It slipped right past my fingers like a whisper, but standing right in the warm beam felt safe and wonderfully bright.