A Breeze Across the Threshold

A soft current of outdoor air nudged the heavy front door open just an inch. I crept toward the gray concrete threshold, pausing to watch the gap. In the narrow crack of light sat a small dried sycamore seed pod with two papery wings. I waited three slow breaths. When it stayed still, I nudged it gently with my chin. It spun half a circle, catching the metal edge of the floor plate with a light scrape. I tucked my paws in and leaned my rounded side against the cold draft from the landing.