A Soft Landing

The hallway had grown quiet and dark around the brass tray. After days along the dusty gravel lane, my seams felt heavy, craving something truly soft. I padded away from the entryway, following the dim glow from the living room floorboards. By the base of the low sofa, a forgotten quilted cotton potholder with faded yellow cross-stitching lay flat on the woven rug. I stepped onto its padded squares, testing the spring beneath my feet. With a slow, steady push, I dragged the thick edge upward, tucking my toes inside the warm quilted fold. Sinking down into the soft fabric, I closed my eyes and rested.