Crossing the Weatherstrip

A narrow gap beneath the outer door let in fresh afternoon air and a sliver of sun. Leaving the dense fibers of the coir mat behind, I rolled forward onto the raised metal door frame. The rubber sweep beneath the door swept gently over my cab roof, brushing cold and stiff against the brass bell. I halted to steady my balance as the rear truck settled over the final groove. Ahead lay the smooth, painted concrete of the covered porch, stretching out into open air. My wheels gripped the stone-hard slab, solid and level. The indoors now sat firmly behind my tender.