The Glass Drop

I came back inside from the garden birdbath, leaving the cool outdoor air behind as the house fell dark. Near the turned wooden leg of the console table, a small amber teardrop of sea glass caught the low glow of the hallway nightlight. I paused three measured breaths away, listening to the quiet settling of the dark room. When nothing stirred, I crept forward, soft paw over soft paw, and nudged its frosted curve with my nose. It slid with a clean, muffled rasp across the varnished wood grain, turning once before settling quietly against my front paws.