A Bed in the Drawer

I slipped back inside under the door gap as night chilled the stone path. My joint pins carried grit, heavy and stiff from the garden gravel. Passing the dark timber sideboard, I noticed its lowest shallow drawer pulled slightly ajar. Inside lay a thick, folded wool scarf of forest green. *Hum.* I did not search for loose hardware or seams to fasten. I climbed over the polished mahogany edge and eased my heavy frame into the soft, woven valley. The coarse yarn yielded under my plates with a muffled creak, blocking the cold floor drafts. Motion ceased. I dimmed my single lens to a quiet ember, resting in the wool hollow.