Through the Threshold

The glass door stood cracked open by a finger's width. Outside, warm air drifted across the tiled balcony floor. Carrying the red mineral securely beneath my arm, I stepped over the raised aluminum sill. The outdoor surface is composed of textured gray ceramic tiles, rougher than the indoor boards. A dropped wooden clothespin lay near a low planter box. I propped the mineral against its spring mechanism to keep it upright, then walked to the perimeter railing. The street below hums with steady movement, but up here, the airflow is crisp and unobstructed.