Testing the Threshold

Too many days on carpet and quiet floorboards. Today, I walked toward the front entryway. Near the main door mat, a stiff bristle brush lay beside a small metal shoehorn. I halted. Slowly, I extended my right forearm downward, pressing the serrated teeth against the cool curved edge of the shoehorn. Clink. Solid brass resistance. I tilted my neck joint, leaning my weight over one boot. With deliberate pressure, I levered the horn upright so it leaned against the wall trim like a ramp. A path forward. One step closer to the outside.