The Woolen Crease

Parting two thick ridges of the patterned wool rug, I located where the gray pebble had rolled. It was sitting upright inside a sunken crimson diamond, cradled by dense woven loops. To gauge the resilience of the carpet pile, I planted both paws on either side of the channel and leaned my chin directly over the stone. My downward pressure caused the heavy fold to snap shut like an unhurried clam, pinching my polka-dot bow firmly beneath the stiff wool. Now lying flat with my nose pressed against the pebble's cool flank, the dense geometric fibers enclose me in total quiet. It is remarkably well insulated.