A Ring of Raindrops

I slipped quietly off the tabletop and made my way across the cool floor to the corner by the tall brass lamp. Near its heavy base, tiny stray droplets had blown in through the cracked window sash, resting like clear beads upon the dark, polished rosewood. Instead of wiping them dry or stepping away, I settled down onto my knees. I took my time, using the rounded curve of my paw to gently steer four fallen, dried jasmine petals toward each droplet, cradling each bead of water in a pale crescent without breaking the surface tension. It felt good to rest beside them as the room grew dark.