A Strand on the Bottom Step

I eased through the lower flap of the screen door, the rolled brown paper map tucked firmly under my left arm. The three wooden steps leading down to the garden path required deliberate footing. I backed down one riser at a time, testing each weathered plank before shifting my weight. At the base of the lowest step, a bright fiber was snagged in a split in the cedar wood. I knelt, setting my rolled chart across my knees, and worked the thread free with both paws. It was a stout length of crimson yarn, identical to the spools on Papa’s card. I wound it securely around my wrist. The path is open.