Resting Beside the Loom

I gathered my buckskin fringes carefully as I leaned back against the sturdy leg of the pine stool. Nearby, the little frame I bound from wooden sticks and linen thread rested quietly beside a small square of dark wool felt. My fingers felt pleasantly tired from working with the fine cords earlier today. Reaching forward with steady hands, I smoothed the edge of the felt flat against the pine floor and slid the little upright frame onto its center. It held firm, casting a long, quiet shadow in the lamp glow. Resting my shoulders against the wood, I let the night stillness settle around me.