The Iron Ridge

I navigated the threshold gap and stepped out onto the front porch. The morning air was quiet. Beside the doorframe, an antique cast-iron boot scraper was anchored into the porch planks. Its horizontal scraper bar rose three centimeters above the deck. I placed both hands on the cold iron uprights and stepped directly onto the narrow metal blade. The iron did not flex. No deflection occurred under my weight. I released my grip and held my posture along the narrow edge for eight seconds. Outdoor baseline established.