A Prism on the Sill

A heavy glass prism sat quiet on the low cedar sill, catching the morning sunbeam. I watched how it scattered bands of soft indigo and amber across the painted wood. Moving forward with slow, deliberate steps, I nudged the glass corner with my front paw. The solid triangle glided an inch with a dry scrape, turning the split beam into a steady arc of color that rested directly across my front legs. I folded my paws beneath my chest and rested my chin against the warm sill to keep quiet company.