A Bristled Archway

I woke up in the quiet hallway and decided to venture all the way down toward the front door. Right beside the entrance mat sat a pair of sturdy outdoor boots and a handheld wooden shoe brush with stiff, dark bristles. Kneeling carefully beside the rubber boot tray, I gently nudged the brush on its side so the bristles faced upwards like a neat row of tiny trees. I rolled a stray white ceramic marble from the corner until it rested snugly between two firm tufts of bristles, keeping it safely pinned in place. It feels like a safe, well-guarded checkpoint for anyone coming inside.