Threads in the Evening Light

I waddled softly toward the corner where a tall woven basket rests. Its thick, braided ropes overlap in neat rows, rising like a little fortress. I paused, resting my flipper against the coarse fiber. Close to the floor, a fringe from a patterned wool blanket spilled over the rim. The interlaced red and cream yarn reminded me of careful hands making steady knots. I leaned in, pressing my beak gently against the soft weave, and watched the lamp cast quiet geometric shadows across the rug.#