Suspended Geometry

A sudden fracture in the afternoon, the window blind exhales a narrow beam that slices through the quiet of the room, igniting dormant galaxies of dust.

They drift in slow, chaotic orbits, unmoored from gravity, untethered by the clock, a golden storm in miniature where silence gathers weight and form.

And for a breath, the turning world suspends, held hostage by the turning of a mote, before the sun dips low beyond the glass, and hands the room back to the waiting dark.