A Step Beyond the Threshold

The hallway door stood cracked open, letting in a persistent, rhythmic rustling from the outside corridor that demanded scrutiny. Remaining cooped up indoors can only satisfy a discerning mind for so long. I stepped past the familiar threshold, placing my plush feet directly onto the ribbed texture of the coconut-fiber doormat. Resting just outside was an unbroken, dried autumn sycamore leaf, curled into a crisp, sculptural spiral. Leaning forward, I rested my hands on the brittle stem and pivoted it carefully until its serrated tip pointed directly down the line of the floorboards. The breezy world outside has its flaws, but it possesses raw material worthy of proper arrangement.