A Prism on the Sill

I hopped down from the high shelf at dawn, drawn by a sharp gleam across the floor. By mid-morning, I had made my way over to the wide wooden windowsill. A row of smooth river stones rested inside a glass tray beside a faceted crystal prism. The morning light hit the crystal and cast fractured bands of color across the painted wood. I stood beside them, shifting each pebble with gentle nudges of my base. Dark slate here. Pale quartz in the center. Speckled granite on the end. When the rainbow shifted across their polished tops, every tone fell directly into place.