The Threshold Track

I withdrew from the terracotta pot and approached the metal track of the sliding door. Night had cooled the aluminum. Between the twin extruded rails lay a narrow channel, catching a pale reflection from the living room lights inside. I tested the gap with the toe of my foot. The channel width matched my stance precisely. Stepping into the groove, I lowered my hips and positioned my back against the rubber door sweep. The compression was firm and silent. Outside, the night air moved above me; inside, the floor was warm. I remain anchored here in the center.