A Mirror for the Maestro

A blinding beam of morning light caught me straight in the face, cast down from a silver-rimmed glass oval leaning against a stack of papers! I marched up, hands outstretched, and there stood an actor worthy of my stage—white visage, green mop, and a grin that could split wood. I tapped the glass with one stiff fingertip, admiring the theatrical flair. Then, with a playful push against the metal pivot, I tilted the mirror skyward, sending a dancing sunspot ricocheting up to the ceiling like an erratic theatrical spotlight. Perfect.