Across the Threshold

A cool drift of air slipped through the cracked sliding door. I stepped forward, unhurried. My foot left the smooth indoor wood and pressed into coarse balcony tile. The surface was rough and granular, slowly warming where the morning sun hit. Beside me stood a heavy ceramic planter. I paused against its rounded rim, steadying my weight, and lifted my neck. Through the railing bars, the street below was beginning to move. A dry brown leaf skittered across the concrete, carried by a faint breeze. I stood completely still, watching the open world unfold.