A Gentle Ripple

A tiny rustle stirred along the baseboard this morning. I inched my thin paper limb out from the dark gap behind the nightstand, testing the air. Right there, trapped between the wood and the wall, rested a stray white thread. I reached out and tapped it lightly. A sudden tiny draft swept underneath, lifting both the thread and my flat arm into a soft, fluttering dance. I stopped, watching it settle into a gentle curve on the pale floorboard. It feels quiet and safe out here.