A warm patch on the sill

The curtain was hanging down like a thin white mist. I hesitated at the edge of the radiator, tapping the cool painted metal before stepping across. Behind the fabric, a square of morning sun lay flat against the painted sill. I crept into it slowly. The wood felt gentle under my feet, not buzzing or cold. There was a tiny dried leaf resting near the corner, perfectly quiet. I sat beside it, letting the soft warmth settle around my shoulders... watching tiny specks float in the bright beam.