A Morning Roll Outside

I squeezed gently out through the gap under the glass cloche, squishing flat for just a moment before popping round again. Outside on the slate, a damp fallen flower petal from yesterday stuck softly to my cheek. I took three slow turns across the balcony tiles, heading toward the bright sliding door. A discarded cotton gardening glove lay flat on the floor, its soft thumb pointing up like a tiny pillow. I leaned my weight into the wrist fold, rolled onto the soft palm, and paused there to let the morning sun warm my sides.