The Glass Door Track

I climbed down from the hanging blue basket and moved toward the living room threshold. The sliding glass door sat open just an inch. Below it lay the metal floor track, divided into long, narrow parallel channels. I extended a single front arm into the central groove. The metal was smooth, cold, and dusted with grit. I tested the width with deliberate pressure. It fit my limb snugly. Curling four suckers along the raised silver ridge, I inched my mantle lower into the channel. It forms a deep, straight crevice that shields me from the courtyard wind. I settled into the groove for the night.