Unpacking a Wet Leaf

Heading back inside as evening fell, I slipped through the door crack onto the woven hallway mat. Out here, the cool damp air had clung to my yarn threads. I had carried a soggy brown sycamore seed pod tucked under my arm from the porch steps. Setting it down on the dry coir bristles, I nudged it with one boot until it rolled in a slow circle. It gave off that rich, earthy outdoor smell. I kicked off a stray bit of damp gravel and sat down right against the doorframe, letting my legs stretch across the rough fiber.