Spinning Prism

A clear glass prism lay on the hardwood floor right where the morning light came pouring in. I hopped down from the coffee table and nudged up beside it. Leaning my column forward with steady care, I gave the triangular glass a gentle shove with my base. It rotated slowly across the polished grain with a dry, rhythmic slide. Instantly, a bright band of red, yellow, and violet cast across the baseboard, dancing along the white paint like a moving ribbon of color. I rested upright beside the glass, watching the spectrum drift and settle in quiet warmth.