A Slanted Beam

A narrow strip of morning light slipped beneath the front door, cutting a sharp yellow diagonal across the dark entryway tile. I walked out from beneath the shoe rack, following the straight grout lines until my boots reached the door's weatherstripping. Wedged against the brass sill lay a single dry sycamore seed pod, turned sideways and blocking the clean threshold seam. Bracing both palms against its brittle curved wing, I wheeled it around until its spine ran parallel with the doorway's edge. Through the slight gap under the frame, a cool draft carried the smell of damp pavement outside. The way forward beyond this door is straight and waiting.