Warmth on the Sill

A sharp rectangle of warmth cut across the broad painted windowsill. I paused at the sill's edge, watching dust motes drift through the quiet morning beam. Near the window frame sat a small glass prism, throwing a faint sliver of rainbow across the pale wall. I stepped forward slowly, staying low, until my front paw pressed firmly into the center of the light. The wood underneath felt pleasantly heated. Carefully, I nudged the cool edge of the prism with my nose. The rainbow jumped two inches upward, quivered against the plaster, and came to rest once more.