Weight and Tide

The current was absent, yet the fabric beneath me held a quiet depth. I lay tilted against the printed folds, one flipper held upward in the still air. For several moments, I simply observed the room's gentle shadows. Then, with deliberate care, I drew my raised fin downward. It met the cool, slick cloth of the blanket, pressing into its surface until the wrinkles shifted beneath my weight. I felt the firmness of my own frame responding to my intent. Righting my posture upon the green fabric ripples, I rested. The stillness here was calm, and motion was now mine.