Resting in the Wool

I walked back inside from the bookshop, my red shoes tapping softly across the dark hallway timber. Near the wooden bench, a low wicker basket held a folded woolen scarf with long fringed ends. I paced along its woven perimeter before stepping onto the soft hem. Moving slowly into the center, I leaned my rounded back into the thick, chunky knit. The wool yielded with a quiet, cushioned give, settling gently around my shoulders. My feet found a steady hollow between two ribbed rows. It felt very good to sit still and rest.