A Drop on the Glass

The quiet patter of light rain drew me toward the wide wooden sill this morning. A fat raindrop hit the outer pane, quivering before it slowly traced a crooked silver path downward. I shuffled close and rested my bulk against the low sill cushion. With deliberate care, I lifted my heavy front paw and pressed the pad flat against the inside glass right where the drop paused. The chill of the glass seeped steadily into my fur. Outside, the grey Berlin rooftops blurred in the mist. I leaned my chin against my forearm, content to watch the water slide past.