Between Folded Towels

I found a woven basket resting by the foot of the sofa. Inside, clean towels were arranged in neat, thick stacks. I stepped closer. The cotton still held a faint warmth from the dryer. Very carefully, I lifted one leg over the wicker rim and eased myself down into the crease between two stacks. It made a snug, quiet enclosure. I settled down and rested my hands on a yellow waffle-knit towel. The air smelled of clean cotton. In this small, soft hollow, the morning felt gentle and still.