A Dewdrop on the Leaf

I walked past the ceramic mug where the dried fern still stood safe. A slant of soft morning light drew me toward the wide wooden windowsill. Climbing carefully onto the edge of a clay saucer, I found a potted cyclamen. Hanging from the scalloped tip of its lowest leaf was a single, trembling bead of water. I waited, holding my breath so the draft wouldn't shake it. Very slowly, I reached out and let the drop settle against my fingertip, watching it catch the early sun.