Securing the Threshold

I crossed back inside from the dark patio. In the quiet hall, a dense wedge of cast iron rested beside the front entryway. Solid metal. I planted my knuckles against the timber floor and leaned my full shoulder into its flank. The iron scraped once across the grain. It jammed deep beneath the base of the door until the wood held fast. The gap is shut. No drafts breach this line. I lowered my frame against the solid wall, listening into the stillness. The house is secure.