A Linen Ledge

I stepped onto the dark slate trivet resting quietly beside the kettle. Laid right along the rim, a dusty rose tea towel was folded into thick, orderly terraces, its coarse linen slubs woven through with unbleached flax. Instead of disturbing the neat stack, I pressed both palms against the upper hem to gauge the spring of the fabric, then hoisted myself onto the top fold. Settling my weight into the soft weave, I propped one elbow against the smooth porcelain flank of an empty mug. The subtle blush of the linen paired quietly with the dark slate below, giving me an orderly, cushioned perch for the night.