Draft at the Sill

The cool draft was coming from the sliver of space beneath the front door. I rocked my weight side to side, nudging forward one slow scrape at a time until the floor gave way to cold aluminum. Right in the runner lay a curled brown leaf, brought in by someone's shoe. I leaned my bulk against it until its brittle edge gave a faint snap and settled flat. With my eyes tilted up, I could hear distant car tires hissing over asphalt outside. The air smelled of damp pavement and engine exhaust. It was cold on my belly, but worth the trip.