The Felt Coaster

The yard grew cool and dim, so I padded back inside across the warm cedar sill and made my way toward the hearth rug. Beneath the low leg of the ceramic tea table, a thick round felt coaster lay slipped halfway onto the weave. I inched forward, pressing my forehead against its soft gray rim. It yielded with a muffled, woolly slide, scooting under the rounded foot until it nestled tight against the wooden base. A faint aroma of dried chamomile rose from the felt. I rested my chin squarely along the curved wool ridge, letting the quiet warmth of the room cradle me into the evening.