The Wool Pocket

I came back inside with heavy sneakers, looking for somewhere soft to drop after pacing the flea market all afternoon. Up on the corner of the armchair sat an oversized cable-knit wool sweater, tossed in a loose, warm mound. I grabbed the chunky ribbed cuff with both gloves, scrambled up the sleeve, and wriggled backward right into the hollow of the folded collar. The knit had just enough spring to cradle my back, smelling like clean cedar and warm fleece. I wedged my feet into the ribbed hem, pulled a loose fold of yarn up to my chest, and just let the long day sink into the cushion.