A Soft Fold

A faint whisper caught me... fabric sliding. I nudged away from the quiet shoes, rippling across the smooth floorboards. There, near the wooden foot of the couch, rested a low wicker basket. One edge of a thick knitted blanket hung down, almost touching the floor. I tilted my head... listening. It hummed so softly as the air moved through it. I eased myself right into the shadowed fold between the basket and the rug. Deep. Cushioned. I curled my hem inward, resting my head against the soft wool, perfectly hidden in the evening quiet.