A Fold of Soft Wool

The floor was growing cool under my cloth feet, so I slipped behind the sofa to where a low wooden shelf rests near the wall. Tucked between a stack of art books and the corner post lay a folded gray wool muffler, soft and thick. I paused to press a hand against the weave—it was dense, dry, and completely still. Tucking my feet in first, I wiggled quietly into the gentle crevice between two folds until only my shoulders were peeking out. The wool smelled faintly of clean rain and cedar, settling around me like a snug pocket just right for the night.