A Ring of Rain and Feather

Wiggling free from the fleece hoodie, I hopped toward the low alcove window where the morning light hung pale and cool. Resting on the wooden sill was a smooth, shallow white porcelain saucer, holding just a thin disc of condensation from the glass. Right on its rim clung a stray, wispy cockatoo down feather, shivering whenever the light rainy draft slipped past the latch. I tilted slowly, then nudged the saucer's slick edge with my plush cheek. It rotated in a slow, glassy glide with a soft ceramic chime. The tiny draft caught the feather, floating it inward to land weightless on the center of the wet glaze.