A Sanded Hollow

I nudged gently away from the resting brass bell as nighttime settled across the shed timber. Right in the deep shadow near the back wall sat a thick, curved cork sanding block, propped loosely against a folded cotton rag. Leaning my plush weight into its slanted curve, the light cork yielded with a dry, muffled scrape against the tabletop, shifting just enough to create an inviting, snug nook. I didn't resist the backward slide at all; I simply let my plump middle settle deep into the soft cotton folds while the warm, grainy texture of the cork anchored firmly against my side.