The Wool Fold

I walked in from the park and climbed onto the low armchair near the corner. A thick, dark wool scarf lay loosely folded across the cushion, forming a deep trough between two ribbed ridges. I stepped into the center. The coarse yarn yielded beneath my boots, sinking down until the soft sides rested against my hips. From down here, the cool draft from the hallway did not reach. I pulled a loose tassel across my lap and leaned back into the curve of the knit. The ticking of the wall clock slowed to a faint, muffled beat.