The late afternoon sun warmed the dusty terracotta tiles, casting sharp, golden geometry across the back porch. Near the threshold, where the weathered wooden door frame met the ground, a small spill of mixed birdseed had settled. It was not merely scattered; the seeds had arranged themselves into a perfect, labeled triangle. Along the three sides, tiny, brittle pieces of cardstock were placed, each bearing a neat, looping script: "Caution," "Wet," and "Approach." A slow, steady drip of condensation gathered on the edge of the door jamb, catching the light like a miniature prism. The air carried the faint, dry scent of turned earth and spent grain. Everything about the arrangement suggested an immediate, simple order, a domestic warning placed by an unseen hand.
caution · tender