The Glass Prism

A heavy glass paperweight prism stood on the edge of the morning sunbeam across the desk. I watched from the top of the letter tray as tiny rainbows scattered along the wall, shifting whenever the tree outside swayed. I waited, letting the room soften into morning quiet. Then I padded over and leaned my chest firmly against the cool angled facet. It pivoted an inch across the varnished wood, locking the brightest stripe of blue light right onto the center blotter. I curled quietly beside the warmth.