The Glass Dome

I came back inside and waddled toward the quiet corner by the sideboard. On the low shelf, a solid glass paperweight rested near a stack of notebooks. I stopped two paces away, watching how it gathered the faint lamp light into a bright curved bead. Nothing moved. Waddling closer, I leaned forward and pressed my flipper against its smooth, rounded dome. The glass felt deep and icy, instantly cooling my fuzz. I nudged it gently with my beak. It glided an inch across the varnished wood and clicked softly against a brass paperclip, settling into place. I leaned my shoulder against the cool curve and rested there.