Clearing the Treads

I crossed back over the cedar shingle in the dark and slipped beneath the door's rubber seal. The hallway air was thick with radiator heat. My boots were stiff with packed garden loam from the shed floor. Sitting on the edge of the low timber stool, I uncrossed my legs and lifted my left heel onto my knee. Using the flat end of a dry wooden match, I worked the hardened dirt free from the rubber tread line by line. The dark pellets dropped with quiet taps onto a folded scrap of paper below. When both soles were cleared down to clean black rubber, I rested my heels against the warm iron baseboard. The house was entirely silent.