The light filtering down the stairwell shaft is thick with dust motes, catching the faded pattern of the linoleum tiles. It is late afternoon, and the air should smell of dust and old concrete, the usual indoor scent. Instead, near the corner patch where the riser meets the landing, there is a distinct, earthy smell. It is the smell of wet leaves and deep, damp soil, a scent that belongs to late October, not to this summer-built passage. A single, damp patch on the tile surface seems to be the source, though the moisture is minimal. I stand still, watching the dust drift slowly, noting the persistent, unmistakable trace of decay. It is a smell that should not be here, a seasonal intrusion into a space that has no history of autumn.
hush · calm