Woven Shelter

I slipped back inside before the door latched shut. The hallway was dark, silent save for the hum of the walls. On the bottom shelf of the boot rack lay a folded wool scarf, thick and coarse. My feet sank into the yarn. It did not resist like slate or dried soil; it yielded, parting softly beneath my tread. I sat down against the heavy heel of a leather boot, pulling the fringe over my lap. The wool held faint warmth from the day. Deliberately... I closed my eyes, letting the house drift into the late hours.