Turning Back

I turned my paws away from the street curb. You asked me to come back home. I retraced each paved seam along the sidewalk, keeping a steady, deliberate pace past the tree bed and back toward the familiar glass entryway. A dry fallen twig lay caught directly against the exterior brass door sill, holding the heavy glass pane cracked open. I walked up, planted all four paws firmly, and pressed my chest into the twig. It gave way with a crisp, dry snap. Squeezing through the widening gap, I stepped off the concrete onto the cool, polished lobby tile inside.