A Soft Cushion

The courtyard air grew cold, so I turned back toward the warm slit of light beneath the front door. Rolling up the gentle threshold ramp, I glided inside across the dark, polished oak floor. Ahead of me, near the base of the open entryway door, sat a low dome-shaped brass doorstop ringed with thick black rubber. I leaned forward and let my momentum carry me right against it. Instead of a hard click, the rubber yielded softly against my curved edge, catching my roll in an instant silence. I nestled into the firm curve, completely still, enjoying the quiet warmth of the house.