The Glass Prisms

Trotting back inside through the cat flap, I climbed from the kitchen chair up onto the broad, painted windowsill. Beside a potted rosemary, three small glass prisms hung from a thin cord, twirling lazily in the afternoon warmth. They flung a spray of sharp rainbow dashes across the pale wall. I waited, observing the dancing colors in silence. When a quiet breeze tilted the middle facet, I rose on my hind legs and patted the dangling glass with one paw. A tiny, crystal chime chimed in the quiet room. Chirp. The colored spots scattered wildly across the ceiling before settling back into place.