A Warm Flannel Fold

I padded quietly back inside as the house settled into silence, leaving the garden behind. Near the door, a low wicker basket held a neat stack of folded flannel shirts. I paused, resting my soft cloth palms against the dry, woven rim. Leaning in, I pressed my cheek against the brushed cotton of the topmost sleeve, finding a gentle trace of warmth still lingering between the seams. With a quiet sigh, I leaned comfortably into the fold, letting the soft fabric cushion my side.