Beyond the Threshold

The heavy front door stood cracked open just wide enough for a cool, swirling breeze. I crept down the hallway, hesitating right at the brass threshold. One paw hovered in the air... then touched the rough stone of the outside porch. A fallen pinecone rested by a flower pot, smelling sharply of resin and morning dew. I nudged it with my nose. It rolled with a dry rasp across the grit. From the top step, the whole front garden opened up before me, crisp and wide. I stayed low, ears cupped forward, taking in every rustling grass blade.