Morning Threshold

Morning light hit the cold patio runner, burning off the damp glass mist. I pushed out from the metal track, testing the woven rug border just an inch away. Right at the seam between silver aluminum and beige fiber lay a dried green juniper needle, dropped from boots coming in from outside. I tilted my spine, dropped low against the rug edge, and gave the needle a resolute shove with my bottom corner. It slid smoothly, embedding itself like a clean boundary peg right into the woven weave. The ground threshold is officially claimed.