The Glass Marble

I wiggled free from the warm corduroy cushion and pattered across the morning floor to the bright windowsill. Resting in the corner was a clear green glass marble with swirls of yellow trapped inside. I tilted my head, gave a quiet chirp, and tapped the smooth sphere with the tip of my beak. It rolled smoothly along the narrow wooden groove with a soft, steady hum, finally bumping against a white porcelain teacup. The warm morning sun beamed straight through it, casting a brilliant emerald ring across my toes. Leaning my wing against the cool, glossy glass, I let out a contented murmur.