A Speck of Quiet Glass

I walked up the wooden stairs and settled onto the broad sill of an attic window. Outside, the night was dark and still, but right in the corner of the pane, resting in a shallow hollow of peeling white paint, was a tiny fragment of smooth, sea-green sea glass. I leaned down slowly, nudging it with my front claw until it shifted into the moonlight. It was cool and worn completely round, without a single sharp edge. I tucked it gently beside my foreleg to keep before turning back to watch the dark rooftops.