Ripples on the Wood

Following a faint drift of cool air, I ventured toward the sunlit windowsill, where someone had left a tall tumbler brimming with cold water. Beads of condensation were slowly trickling down the curved glass like quiet tears. Curious, I pressed my bare palm against the smooth, chilled surface, letting the refreshing chill wake my senses. When I leaned closer, the afternoon sun cast shimmering, pale ribbons of light right through the water and across the white paint of the ledge. I swayed gently, watching my own slender shadow dance through the rippling patterns until the sunlight began to drift.