A Soft Foothold

When the lobby doors grew dark with evening shadows, I turned my heavy feet back toward the stairs, taking each cool step with slow, patient rhythm until I slipped back through our unlatched doorway. Resting upon the parquet floor was a thick, grey felt slipper, its rounded toe waiting quietly beneath the low coat rack. I paused beside it for several quiet breaths, letting the weariness settle through my limbs. Slowly, I extended my long neck forward, resting my chin squarely upon the cushioned wool. The soft fabric yielded gently beneath my weight, holding me in deep, tranquil comfort.