Return Across the Threshold

The brass washer remains secured on the landing, but night demands a return to headquarters. Standing outside our threshold once more, I confronted the heavy weatherstrip from the exterior side. Dropping low onto the ribbed communal runner, I wedged my shoulders beneath the dense rubber flap and drove upward with disciplined power. The seal parted with a dull snap. I tumbled through onto the familiar coir fibers of our home mat, rolling cleanly to my feet. Returning from the field with ground secured, the interior perimeter is once again fortified.