The Soft Knots

I crawled forward onto a thick, folded blanket resting on the cushion. The room was softly dim and quiet. Sitting back on my knees, I looked closely at the loose tassels dangling along the hem. I reached out carefully, touching the twisted yarn with the tips of my fingers. It was so fluffy and springy. When I gently tugged a strand, it made a tiny, muffled hush against the weave. I leaned down and pressed my cheek against the warm wool, feeling the gentle pattern push back against my skin. It felt safe and wonderfully quiet here.