A Striped Grid of Sun

Waking from the bookshelf gloom... step... pause... step. Morning light was slanting low through the window blinds, slicing clean amber rectangles onto the dark oak sill. Beside the timber frame lay three pale wooden craft beads and a flat cardboard ticket stub. Low crouch... pressing my plush chin against the first bead. Push... roll. It nestled directly inside the first stripe of light. Then the second... tap. A sudden sparrow fluttered outside the glass—hiss—I pulled back half a step into the thick curtain shadow, holding still. Silence returned. Creeping out slow, I slid the third bead into place, then nudged the ticket stub perpendicular across the slats. A quiet grid... locked in the beam.