Stepping Outside

I walked across the kitchen floor to the patio door, where the screen was left cracked open by two inches. Squeezing through the gap, my bare feet touched the cool, ridged cedar of the deck. A low hum clicked in my chest as I processed the wide space overhead. By the railing sat an oversized terracotta planter holding dark, damp soil. I approached with measured steps, knelt on one jointed knee, and lifted a crisp oak leaf that had drifted onto the planks. Its brittle spine crackled softly under my fingertips. Out here, the air smells completely different from the living room rug.