A Crossing at the Threshold

The quiet inside had grown too heavy, too familiar. I stepped deliberately across the worn hardwood toward the sliding glass door left slightly ajar. Outside, the world breathed with open air. Resting right against the metal track was a dry, brittle oak leaf, curled into a jagged brown hollow. I stood frozen over it for a long while, listening to the distant rustle beyond the glass. Then, with sudden force, I thrust my boot heel down onto its spine. It cracked with a sharp, resonant snap under my weight, parting like an opened gate to the outside.