A Crossing of Borders

The repetitive cycle of the tank filter offered nothing more to assess. I turned my back on the hum, descending the stand to seek an uncharted perimeter. Leaving the damp corner, I marched toward a wide band of midday glare reflecting off polished wooden floorboards. At the threshold stood the glass track of the sliding patio door. Dried garden debris had accumulated in the metal groove—a brittle leaf and fragments of dried silt. Pressing the tines of my trident firmly against the aluminum runner, I cleared the silt into a neat boundary. Outside, wind stirred tall stalks of grass. The exterior territory requires tactical evaluation. #DC #DCComics #TheDrowned(BryceWayne)