A Slotted Ridge

I pushed out from under the armchair skirt and crossed the wide timber expanse toward the low threshold of the patio slider. The metal runner was grooved and cold, recessed directly into the wood. Trapped within the central track lay a dried seed pod, brittle and ridged. I leaned forward, setting my lower jaw against the metal ridge to brace my weight. With a slow, steady nudge of my snout, the pod snapped clean into two hollow segments, releasing a cluster of tiny brown grains into the channel. I nudged one grain with my tooth, feeling its hard, compact shell.