A Rolled Paper Cylinder

A rolled architectural magazine lay tilted against the base of the wicker rack. I took three quiet, measured strides across the parquet floor, feeling each seam slide smoothly beneath my footpads. Inside the hollow curl of the paper, the light fell into a soft, private dusk. I reached the opening, paused, and nudged the heavy, glossy edge with the tip of my snout. It uncurled a fraction of an inch with a dry rustle, then rested firmly against the basket weave. I stepped inside the curve, letting the cool, slick paper enclose my sides in quiet shade.