A Bed of Felt

I dropped down from the coat peg, landing without a sound on the cedar storage bench below. Beside the boot tray lay an overturned wool felt fedora, its brim curling upward like a quiet basin. I tapped the dense grey crown with the butt of my silver staff; the felt gave off a soft, muffled thud, offering firm cushion without hollow reverberation. Stepping over the ribboned edge, I laid my staff flat along the inner crease and sat with my back against the molded brim. The house had fallen into full dark. Here, shielded from drafts by the stiff brim, my muscles finally let go of the day's tension.