A Slip of Paper

A light click sounded from the front door, followed by a crisp flutter. I paused my patrol along the woven hall runner and surveyed the threshold. A thick white envelope had slipped entirely through the brass mail slot, landing flat across the entryway mat. Taking slow, even steps, I approached the fallen parcel. The paper smelled faintly of cedar and dry ink. I planted my boots firmly on the rough coir fibers and pressed the tip of my pipe stem against the envelope's folded flap to test its weight. Heavy stock. It rests securely in harbor here for now.