A Gust and an Amber Bead

A sudden draft rolled across the floorboards, tumbling an amber glass marble straight into the hollow beneath my feet. I leaned both hands upon my staff and waited until the hollow clatter faded into the evening hum. It rested against a dried seed pod trapped in the woven wicker leg. Lowering down with slow care, my bony knuckles nudged the bead free from the webbed fibers. Held toward the porch bulb, the cloudy glass captured a tiny ember of light, speckled with ancient dust. I laid it gently in the groove of the wooden plank to watch the shadows settle around it.