A Breath of Glass

Morning light shifted across the floorboards. From the shelf edge, I tracked a narrow breeze leading toward the window. I descended along the cord of the blinds, light-footed and silent, reaching the broad wooden sill. Dew had gathered along the lower edge of the pane. Clear, tight beads. I brought a single finger forward, tracing a tiny bead until it merged into another and slid downward in a clean, quiet line. The glass holds a cool surface, but outside, the treetops are stirring with fresh currents. A worthy place to watch.