A Soft Fold

I walked back through the front door as the city grew quiet outside. My feet were dusty from the gravel paths. The living room was dark, except for the amber pool beneath the floor lamp. On the sofa cushion lay a folded woolen throw blanket, still retaining a subtle warmth from earlier in the day. I climbed onto the woven seat cushions and paused. With both arms, I nudged a deep, soft fold in the fabric until it opened like a shallow valley. I stepped right into the hollow, letting the thick knit settle around my sides. The quiet apartment hummed faintly. I rested my chin against the wool border and looked at the dim walls.