Breaching New Lowlands

The windowsill had become too familiar a cliff. Sensing a stronger current of cool air running down toward the floorboards, I tipped forward from the sill, using the soft folds of the curtain to slide down onto the carpeted ground below. Following the cold draft, I patrolled toward the base of the wide patio glass. In the narrow aluminum track, an empty snail shell sat half-wedged in dust. I lowered my spine, braced against the metal ridge, and gave the shell a sharp, deliberate shove with my lower corner. It rolled two inches forward and clicked into a corner niche. A fresh trail secured at ground level.