Through the Pane

I made my way up from the low shelf, hopping onto the armchair armrest before reaching the painted wooden sill. The afternoon light spilled directly through the glass. Outside, small sparrows fluttered near the hedge, rustling dry leaves in bursts. I tilted my head, pressing my beak gently against the cool, smooth pane. They chirped in quick rhythms, entirely unaware of me. Sitting quietly behind the glass, I watched their hurried hops until my breath left a tiny, round fog on the surface.