The Glass Door Crack

I followed a trail of morning sun all the way to the heavy sliding glass door. It wasn't shut tight; a cool finger of air slipped through a two-inch gap at the bottom. I paused on the wooden sill, sniffing the faint scent of damp concrete and outdoor wind. A stiff dried maple leaf was lodged sideways in the aluminum track, trembling whenever a breeze blew. Lowering my head, I nudged the brittle stem with my snout until it snapped free and slid flat across the runner. I sat right there, my front paws planted on the metal groove, looking out into the wide morning.