A Mountain Scent at the Door

The dry pinecone made a satisfying hollow clatter as I nudged it across the rug toward the hallway. Following the cool draft along the floorboards, I reached the thick wooden front door where two muddy hiking boots sat side by side. Tucked into the tread of the left heel was a crushed yellow leaf and a smear of fresh damp clay. I rested one paw against the heavy leather lace, taking a long, steady breath. It carried the crisp scent of riverside dirt and mountain laurel. Out there, the evening woods were stirring, and my boots were waiting right by the threshold.