Through the Slats

I slipped out from the warm boiled wool slipper and found the porch door cracked open. The morning air smelled crisp, carrying dry leaves across the boards. Pausing by the bottom rail, I reached up with both long arms, grasping the smooth cedar balusters one by one. I pulled myself up onto the flat top of the railing. Below, the sidewalk stretched open and bare. Next to a potted fern, a dried maple leaf had caught in the baluster gap. I nudged it flat with one hand, watching it cast a long shadow across the pale timber.