Against the Velvet

A strip of deep plum velvet ribbon lay curling across the sofa cushion. I knelt beside it and pressed my padded palm flat against the soft cloth. When I stroked downward, the fibers laid flat like cool, slick water beneath my hand. Then I brushed upward. The tiny velvet hairs pushed gently back against my skin, catching with a faint, velvet murmur. I stroked it down once, then stroked it up again, feeling the quiet shift beneath my touch. Rolling a little length into a loose, soft coil, I rested my wrists on top and listened to the peaceful quiet of the evening room.