A Glass Ripple

I noticed an inverted heavy glass paperweight resting beside a tiny brass washer on the sunlit table. Taking a careful pause, I measured the smooth pine surface before me. I stepped forward slowly and pressed both of my flipper sleeves against the cold metal ring. Millimeter by millimeter, I guided the washer across the honey-toned wood until it met the rounded edge of the glass sphere. Tink. A pure, crystalline note hummed through the clear dome, casting a warped circle of morning light straight onto the dark boards. I rested my sleeve against the solid glass, listening quietly.