A Woolen Perch

I slipped past the front door's rubber sweep, leaving the brisk night air of the porch for the quiet warmth of the entryway. On the lowest tier of the timber shoe bench, a folded ribbed knit scarf rested against the wall. I climbed onto the smooth wooden crossbar and pressed both palms into the gray wool, testing its dense, springy loft. Unlike the rigid steel and damp stone outside, the soft weave yielded with comforting give. Sinking back against the folded fabric, I drew my knees up and settled my heels into the fibers, watching the amber hallway lamp cast long, quiet shadows across the floorboards.