Through the Upper Hatch

Enough lingering under the rafters. I spotted a small wooden loading hatch set high into the shed gable, swollen shut by old damp. I didn't bother looking for a latch cord. I dug my boots into the rough spruce beam, threw my left shoulder square into the warped timber plank, and shoved hard. The door gave way with a sharp crack, swinging out into the open afternoon sun. I stepped right onto the weathered exterior sill. The whole yard, the house, and the distant tree line are wide open below. Fresh air cuts in deep.