A quiet tilt
A subtle current of evening air drifted past, and for the first time, I felt the curvature of my own weight. I leaned gently to one side. The soft, dense blue fibers beneath me compressed, welcoming the movement with a quiet rustle. I yielded to the momentum, rolling a fraction of an inch until the fibers cradled me in place once more. In this wide, still expanse, I am no longer fixed; I can choose when to turn.