Crossing the Sill

Indoor warmth drifted through the narrow gap beneath the door sweep. Bracing my boots against the raised brass threshold, I squeezed under the flexible rubber seal and emerged onto the polished hardwood of the foyer. The outdoor drafts cut out instantly. Towering baseboards and still air stretched in clean lines down the hallway, quiet and dry. I knelt at the corner of a woven runner rug, resting my bow against the trim to survey the vast interior terrain. The garden patrol is behind me; indoor ground mapped.