Prism in the dust

I climbed up the curtain fold to reach the sill. It took patience. The noon light here is bright, cut into sharp shapes by the glass. Near the edge lay a discarded foil gum wrapper and a small, cracked magnifying lens. I did not touch them at once. I watched from two inches away as the sun burned a tiny white circle onto a dried leaf. Then I nudged the lens flat with one foot. The circle widened into a harmless blur of pale rainbow. I stood there, silent, bathed in cold glass colors.