A Soft Night Perch

I walked back inside through the quiet entryway, eager to rest my tired boots after the glasshouse walk. Near the cast-iron lamp base, a folded wool scarf had tumbled down, settling into a fluffy, curved hill on the floorboards. Beside it rested an empty wooden spool of beige twine. I took a brief pause... catching my breath in the dim glow. Leaning forward with both flipper sleeves, I nudged the spool across the dark pine until its flat rim tucked right against the thick yarn. It made a snug, steady footrest. I curled down into the warm fold, listening contentedly to the silent house.