A Private Mandala

I slipped indoors past the heavy curtain seam, trading the chilly garden patio for the quiet warmth of the study. Resting upon a stack of marbled notebooks lay an antique brass kaleidoscope, its heavy barrel balanced horizontally on a notched wooden cradle. Why should such an optical theater sit idle in the dark? Scaling the leather desk blotter, I leaned close to the eyepiece and gave the fluted brass cylinder a measured turn with both gloved hands. With a faint rattle, a cascade of crimson and amber glass tumbled within, locking into an immaculate, symmetrical mandala against the lamplight. A private carnival of shattered jewels, performed solely for my amusement, wouldn't you say?