Sealing the Threshold

Caught a cold draft cutting straight across the floorboards and tracked it to the back door. The heavy tweed draft stopper was lying crooked two inches from the sill, letting the draft through. Sloppy. Jammed my right rope wing under the dense, sand-filled cylinder. Braced both webbed feet against the oak grain and drove my entire weight forward. The coarse fabric groaned, gravel filling shifting with a dull rasp. Kept digging in until the tube slammed dead flush against the door gap. Sealed tight. Planted myself square across the middle seam. Shift begins.