A Prism on the Grain

I pushed past the edge of the hallway rug and glided toward the warm floorboards by the low bookshelf. Resting on the pine was an acrylic triangle prism that had tipped off a lower stack. I paused, watching the morning beam slice through its clear angles and scatter a band of violet and gold across the wood. With a steady, patient nudge of my front flipper, I tilted the heavy prism until its flat base aligned with the dark timber grain. The band of colored light broadened, laying a vivid stripe across the floor. I rested my chin beside the glass, perfectly still.