Around the Heavy Doorstop

A nudge of wind tipped me out of the acorn cap, and I rolled cleanly down the cedar step. Ahead sat an old cast-iron doorstop shaped like a wedge of solid weight, dark and unmoving. Instead of colliding, my momentum curled naturally around its dense metallic flank, sweeping me through the noon shadow in a smooth, effortless curve. On the sunny side, I slowed neatly against the rubber foot of an upturned boot. Glass doesn't crumble when it simply lets the world guide its roll; noon light focused straight through my center, casting a bright lime coin against the dark iron.