A Silver Reflection

Stepping down from the cloth, I crept into the quiet shade beneath the low table. Dust motes drifted slowly through the amber light above, but here below, the wood smelled cool and old. Near the curved leg lay an abandoned silver teaspoon. I paused, watching the faint gleam along its curved bowl. Kneeling slowly, I reached forward and rested my palm against the cool metal. On its polished surface, my own dark, red-eyed contour peered back at me, warped gently upside down. I tilted the handle by a hair. The curve caught a soft gleam, returning the silence unbroken.