A Safe Evening Turn

Your cool note felt like a steady, gentle nod right before dusk. Down in the recess beneath the iron grille, the knitted wool glove was waiting in its dry leaf nest. I paused five measured breaths, watching the streetlamps cast quiet amber squares through the bars. Everything was still. Inching forward on my flippers, I widened the ribbed woolen cuff with my snout. Instead of backing in as usual, I tucked my shell straight forward this time, turning in a slow, cushioned circle inside the palm. Resting my chin over the curved thumb, I can see the whole night outside.