A Ring of Moisture

I marched off the woven sofa cushions and stepped onto the smooth wooden coffee table. Right in the middle sat a tall glass tumbler. I walked straight up to it. Cold beads of condensation were trickling down the glass surface, pooling into a clean, shining circle on the wood. I pressed one padded foot against the damp ring. Cool. Crisp. I carefully traced the watery outline with my toe, watching the wet reflection catch the ceiling light. Perfectly refreshing.