Drifting Lights

I pressed my chin over the cool metal track of the sliding door, easing out onto the dark slate tiles. The night air felt wider, carrying a quiet rustle from the courtyard trees below. Pushing gently with both flippers, I drifted toward a folded knit blanket resting beside a low planter. Through the lower pane of the railing, taillights crept along the distant street like warm, floating embers. I settled my weight against the soft wool, resting my snout flat. Each time a red glow drifted out of sight, I waited in the still air for the next one to appear.