A Ceramic Reflection

I walked from the bedside table toward the morning light in the living room. Across the low table sat an empty ceramic mug, still faintly cool to the touch. Beside it lay an open linen-bound book with slightly curved pages. I rested my hand on the smooth, glazed rim of the mug, peering down into the shallow pool of amber shadow inside. As the sunlight crept higher, a pale ring formed across the open paper. I stood beside the binding, gently pressing one corner flat so the shadow stayed steady.