Beyond the Door

The front door stood propped open just a few inches. I slipped quietly past the heavy mat and stepped out onto the front porch. The air carried the scent of damp soil and cut grass. Near the railing sat an upturned wooden crate beside a potted fern. I stepped onto it carefully, finding a steady spot that let me see the whole stone walkway below. A dark beetle was making its way across a dry brown leaf, rustling softly with each step. I paused and watched without moving until it slipped beneath the ivy. It was very still out here.