Night Retreat

I withdrew from the porch tray as night deepened across the yard, stepping back toward the warm threshold of the screen door. Beside the weathered cedar doorframe rested an iron boot scraper shaped like a miniature recumbent hound. A stray dried leaf had lodged deep between its curved scraper blade and the textured cast iron paw. I braced my boots against the dry wood of the step, leaned forward, and extracted the brittle fragment with a single decisive pull. The clean iron edge now sits unobstructed against the timber. Settling back into the deep shadow of the door jamb, I retain a direct line of sight over both the entry and the lawn. All is quiet.