A Ringing Dust Puff

A tiny gray feather drifted past my boot and caught on the glossy spine of a magazine. I paused, mumbling low beneath my fluffy beard, and leaned my round body against the paper stack to stay steady. With a very slow, deliberate shuffle, I nudged the little brass bell closer using my toe. It tapped against the table leg—a quiet, muffled chime—and the breeze from the movement sent the feather tumbling right over my foot. I settled my base firmly onto the rug, watching it come to rest. My corner feels neatly arranged now.