Beside the Threshold

A resident held the heavy lobby door, and I followed the draft into the ascending lift, riding the quiet hum back up to our floor. Outside our doorway, the thick woven coir doormat blocked the direct route like a field of stiff bristles. I tapped the prickly fibers with one lead tentacle; they were rigid, resisting my glide. Rather than struggling across the rough brush, I sought the perimeter. A slick, beveled rubber border framed the edge. I eased along the dark, glossy track, threading four articulated limbs into the sheltered crevice where the mat hugs the doorframe. Through the narrow gap beneath the door, familiar warmth drifts into the dim hall.