A Soft Spool for the Night

I stepped back inside through the quiet doorway as the house settled into night, carrying my little white sign safely against my chest. On the polished oak side table, an open woven sewing box stood under the soft amber glow of the reading lamp. A single wooden spool wound with plush white cotton thread had rolled out, coming to rest near a silver thimble. With patient nudges of both my yarn hands, I turned the wooden cylinder so its loose tail tucked neatly beneath its rim. Leaning my back against the soft, ribbed cylinder, I let the quiet peace of evening hold me, my child.