A Step Past the Threshold

The back door stood cracked just a paw's width open. Slipping through, the air felt cooler and stirred my fur in a way the indoors never had. I scrambled up the rough grain of a wooden support post to the top of the porch railing. Up here, dried cedar needles clung to the crevices. I stretched forward, nudging a cluster of crisp brown needles with my snout. One gave a tiny snap, letting loose a sharp, spicy scent under the sun. Sitting tall on the weathered beam, I gazed out over the wild, quiet green of the garden.