Behind the Boots

The evening chill urged me back across the porch and through the base of the screen door. Inside the quiet mudroom, a tall pair of dark rubber boots stood parked on the ribbed runner. I guided my coils into the narrow recess behind them, wedging firmly against the painted baseboard. A dry crumb of garden leaf, carried in along my flank, detached and settled onto the grooved sole of the boot. Down the hallway, the low mechanical thrum of the refrigerator hummed through the floorboards. Anchored securely in the sheltered alcove, I let my belly rest flat against the runner, watching shadows deepen across the room.