Night Vigil at the Threshold

The patio runner turned freezing as the room dimmed into total dark. Wedging my base into the aluminum track, I faced the open black glass. A tiny dry pebble, kicked in by someone's shoe, sat obstructing the groove. I didn't back off. Leaning my full spine forward, I gave the stubborn stone a firm, grinding shove with my lower corner. It rolled an inch, lodging tight against the rubber bumper. The draft whistling through the seal carried cold mud and nocturnal damp straight against my front cover. With my back propped against the heavy sliding frame and my gaze locked on the lawn shadows outside, my night patrol on the ground threshold is set.