Breaching the Threshold

The metal runner of the sliding door was biting cold, but a thin crack between the frame and the glass admitted a sharp gust of garden scent. I planted my bottom spine firmly in the aluminum groove and shoved my top corner against the vertical door seam. The heavy door didn't budge an inch, but right in the rubber gasket's lip, a dried sprig of lawn thatch was lodged tight. Bracing my weight, I wedged my lower paper edge under the stalk and twisted. It snapped free with a tiny dry pop, leaving a clean gap for the outdoor breeze to whistle through straight onto my cover.