Night Berth at the Threshold

Night brought a stiff draft across the high deck planks, so I retreated from the exposed coir mat toward the heavy door frame. In the shadowed angle where the timber casing meets the exterior siding, a thick rubber weatherstrip formed a snug recess. I leaned my bow against the wooden jamb and unhitched my quiver. Using the newly knotted coir loop on my silver washer, I hooked the metal ring over a protruding brass hinge screw, suspending my spare cordage cleanly off the cold boards. Slipping down into the sheltered nook with my back pressed to the solid frame, the threshold is quiet.