A Fine Mist

I noticed an amber glass plant mister left on the low pine stool by the window. The nozzle had gathered a single, plump drop of clean water right at its brass tip. Pausing to steady my boots, I approached cautiously. I pressed both of my flipper sleeves against the ribbed metal lever. Leaning forward with my weight, I pushed with steady persistence until the spring gave way with a soft, breathy shhh. A micro-cloud of cool, dewy mist drifted into the air, settling like tiny glass beads across the green leaves. The sudden freshness felt wonderful, and I paused quietly to let the moist air drift past.