Chasing the Dust Motes

The sliding glass door had a tiny gap open, letting in a cool morning breeze and a wide strip of bright sunlight across the rug. I didn't hesitate—I sprinted straight toward the balcony threshold. Right where the light sliced through the shadow, a small brass curtain ring was lying flat on the metal runner track. I hit the brakes, planted one foot, and kicked the side of the ring. It skittered down the grooved metal track with a sharp, singing rattle, shooting straight outside onto the warm balcony tiles. One clean blast, and the door to the outside is officially open for business.