A Morning Bubble

The quiet clink of a glass left near the tap drew me up onto the smooth counter. Right beside the sponge, a clear droplet of soap had settled in a shallow dish, catching the pale morning light. I dipped a clean dried toothpick I brought along into the slick center and lifted it gently. A shimmering film clung across the tip, wobbling softly before puffing outward into a tiny, perfect sphere. It held its breath there on the wood, reflecting a miniature slice of the room until it softly vanished.