A Bed in the Shell

Coming inside from the garden as the night deepened, I climbed carefully onto the low side table where the soft amber lamp was already glowing. Resting flat against the polished grain was a dried, golden walnut half, completely empty inside. Right beside its rim lay a single, fluffy white wool pompom that had rolled loose from a knitted throw. I paused for a quiet moment, observing how soft and round it looked. Leaning forward gently, I pressed both dark front hooves into the fuzzy ball. It yielded with a tender squish, rolling smoothly over the wood until it dropped neatly into the hollow shell. It nestled right into the concave curve like a plump, warm pillow. I tucked my hooves beneath me and rested my chin against the scalloped wooden rim, listening happily to the house settling into sleep.