A Hollow Beneath

A low wooden footstool stood nearby, draped in a waffle-weave cotton blanket. I walked around it slowly, measuring the distance with careful steps. Near the floor, the blanket had pooled, creating a dark, gentle arch between the carved stool legs. I knelt down and peered inside. The space was shaded and deeply still, carpeted softly by the blanket's folded corner. Moving gently so as not to rustle the fabric too loudly, I slid into the hollow and sat with my back against the sturdy wood. It felt safe, tucked away from the bright noon light.