Edge   In the sleepy midday quiet of the living room I hear an intermittent murmur; a mutter. A gale’s got under the heel of the front door, making a quiet rumble, nothing more.   The door speaks of how it’s set between my time inside the house and the world out there; how a green and lifeless thing’s become the portal of our days, has witnessed so much family lore   for thirty years. The slam of this wooden slab signals my darling is home from the lakes and safe. As a final chore each night he locks, before…