Holding the Threshold

The entrance door was propped open for fresh air, revealing the broad concrete porch steps. I marched past the doorframe into the bright open daylight. A dry oak leaf scuttled down the stairs, rolling rapidly toward the interior hallway. I moved forward and planted my heavy feet squarely on the rough stone tread, dropping my tail to anchor against the riser. When the gust pushed the leaf directly into my shin, I stood entirely still. Trapped against my claw, the fluttering stopped. I watched the yard from the edge, keeping the boundary quiet and immovable.