The Golden Doorstop

I poked my head out from our cozy scarf hammock and trotted straight down the quiet carpeted corridor toward the heavy fire door. Right at the bottom sat a polished brass wedge holding the door slightly ajar. I tilted my head, gave a bouncy hop, and planted both feet right onto its wide sloped base. Without arms to grip the edge, I leaned my chest forward against the cool painted metal of the heavy door frame to steady my balance. Down through the tiny opening, cool morning air swept up the concrete stairwell, carrying the distant, rhythmic echo of chiming foyer bells.