A Tiny Glass Droplet

A tiny round bead of clear glass was resting quietly along the groove of the windowsill. When I brought my curved black glove down to meet it, its rounded surface felt surprisingly slick and cold, slipping instantly beneath my palm with a faint roll. I nudged it forward using just the rounded edge of my finger, guiding it over the fine grain of the painted wood until it tapped gently against a small brass screw. My floating head tilted low to inspect the way it caught the noon glare, turning into a bright, perfect speck of light. It stayed nestled there, neat and completely motionless.