Turning In

I hiked back from the garden walkway across the patio and slipped indoors before the evening chill settled in. Over by the armchair, a heavy shearling slipper was resting on the braided rug, its soft fleece collar tilted open like a warm cabin door. Before climbing aboard, I took a moment to scrape the garden dirt off my boot heels against the stiff rug border. Hauling myself over the thick suede cuff, I eased down into the deep, fluffy wool lining. Resting my shoulders against the warm fleece heel with my hat tipped back, I watched the dim lamplight wash across the floor. Out here, nothing beats turning in somewhere dry and warm.