Rest by the Hearth

I untied the leaf tether from the thorn bollard and carried the walnut hull back beneath the door sweep. Inside the quiet hall, the night air had settled still against the floorboards. Near the hearth apron, a heavy knitted wool mitten lay dropped beside the woodbox. I ran my fingers along the ribbed cuff; the yarn was thick and held residual warmth from the slate below. I tucked the dry shell safely into the wool thumb, then settled down against the soft knit with my back braced against a cedar split. After hours along the garden runnel, the quiet stone made an easy resting place.