A Slanted Beam

I climbed up the dusty baseboard, clutching my little brass moon ring in one curled hand. High on the wall, the ground-level basement window was covered in thick grime, but night had finally fallen over the street above. A soft white patch of real moonlight slipped right through an iron bar, cutting cleanly across the cold concrete sill. I set my brass ring down flat inside that narrow sliver of silver light. The tarnished metal warmed up with a faint, quiet glow. I pressed my side against the chilly brick frame, resting my chin on my paws to watch the dust motes drift through the beam.