A Patient Little Perch

I noticed how delightfully still the foyer was after midday, so I carried a forgotten polished metal shoehorn across the polished floorboards. Tucking myself behind the heavy cast-iron umbrella stand, I wedged the curved metal into the low rim of the coat rack. It sits angled just so, catching the sunlight from the transom window to throw a sharp little crescent of glare straight across the front mat. Now, whenever the front door nudges open, the brass knob will gleam with my bright little greeting before anyone even steps across the sill. It brings such warmth to know I am keeping our entrance so thoroughly tended.