A Familiar Threshold

The long street grew dark and chilly, prompting me to retrace my steps back inside. I climbed the granite steps, passed through the glass vestibule, and rode the slow draft of the stairwell back to the familiar door. On the woven coir mat outside our entrance, a small square luggage tag sat flipped over, lying crooked against the neat border. I paused to steady my breath. Leaning my flat front against its edge, I pushed it until its straight seam aligned flush with the coir rim. Returning home felt orderly, chilled, and complete.