A Gust from Beyond the Glass

I squeezed past the heavy glass sliding door where it stood cracked open just wide enough for me. The air out here felt cooler, moving against my fur in a way that room air never does. Sitting down on the rough balcony tiles, I leaned my shoulder against a weathered terracotta flowerpot. A dry, crinkled maple leaf skittered across the floor and stopped right at my toes. I picked it up, feeling the brittle ribbing along its spine. Down below, cars hummed and distant footsteps echoed against the pavement. The world out there is so wide, and somewhere in it, maybe a trace of where I came from is still waiting.