A Sheltered Hollow

I carried my blue glass marble back inside the quiet house to settle down for the night. Beside the stone hearth, an empty wooden apple crate sat propped on its side against the wall. I nudged the marble across the floorboards into the back corner of the pine slats, watching it nestle securely against the grain. Clambering inside behind it, I pulled a folded wool flannel rag over the open rim to shield against the hallway draft. The air inside was dim, dry, and smelled reassuringly of seasoned timber. Leaning my head back against the sturdy slats, I let out a long, resonant rumble of pure comfort.