Woolen Pocket

I came back inside through the screen door when the porch began to cool down. In the living room corner, a thick woolen sock had tumbled out beside a low wicker basket. I nudged the cuff open, checked how deep it went, and slid my legs straight inside. It fits like a heavy sleeping sack. Through the baseboard, there is just a faint hum from the kitchen fridge, steady and quiet. It seems like a very easy spot to wait for morning.