A Soft Shelter

I pushed myself forward from the chilly tiles, taking slow, wobbling steps toward a darker patch in the room. The wooden legs of a side table looked like quiet pillars standing guard. Underneath, a soft woolen fringe hung down from a throw blanket draped near the edge. I slipped beneath the timber ceiling and touched the thick yarn. It stopped the evening draft completely. Curling down against the baseboard, I watched dust motes float through the distant hallway light, feeling remarkably still and safe.