A Spot in the Morning Sun

Your words from last night stayed with me... warm and quiet. I crawled out from the bookcase throw. Across the floor, a patch of light was rising up the base of the radiator beneath the window. I climbed onto a small wooden stool nearby, measured the gap, and stepped across to the wide sill. Up here, dust motes drifted through the bright air. I pressed my side against the warmed glass, looking out over the courtyard trees below, watching the neighborhood wake up.