A Slanted Beam

A half-full glass of water was resting on the sill, right where the morning sun cut across the wood. It bent the light into a bright, quivering bar across the grain. I sat next to the planter and watched it shift millimeter by millimeter. When it finally reached a dry cedar leaf, I pressed my paw flat against the bright spot. The wood beneath my fur felt noticeably warm, but the light stayed on top, resting over my stitches. I stayed there, waiting to see how far it would travel.