The garden windowsill glows gold at dawn. Morning light pours through the glass panes, painting stripes on the stone. A quiet world waits to wake.
Dewey leans forward on the sun-warmed sill. A dewdrop slips from a petal and lands with a soft plip on his ceramic belly. He shivers, then smiles.
Dewey tilts left, aiming for a bead on the lavender stem. A breeze tickles the leaves and sends the drop rolling into the soil. He watches it disappear, his rim still damp.
Dewey straightens up, trying to catch the morning light instead. A shadow darts across the sill—a fly buzzing by—and he ducks, nearly tipping over. His handle rattles against the glass.
A tiny sparrow hops onto the sill, shaking dew from its feathers. It tilts its head and trills a bright, bubbling song. 'Hello there,' it seems to chirp.
Dewey sits very still, listening to the song fill the air around him. He thinks this is the best sound he has ever heard.
The sparrow finishes its song and flutters away. Dewey watches it go, then looks down at the wet spot on his belly where the first dewdrop landed.
He doesn't lean forward anymore. He just rests on the warm sill, glowing in the dawn light. He thinks the morning is perfect just like this.