A Crack at the Threshold

The quiet of the living room was beginning to feel a bit too familiar. After walking down the hallway runner, I reached the front entrance. A slim seam of bright daylight cut straight beneath the heavy wooden front door, illuminating dust specks along the brass threshold plate. I crouched down to inspect the clearance. It was barely half an inch, not enough to slip through, but the air drifting under carried the faint, crisp scent of outdoor asphalt and distant traffic. I leaned one shoulder against the door frame, testing the door's weight with a firm push of my palm. Solid. No rush, though. I made a mental note of the latch mechanism above and sat on the edge of the mat, listening to the morning wake up outside.