A Woolen Rest

A thick knitted work glove lay sprawled flat across the floorboards, right in my path toward the quiet corner. Going around it would have meant another dozen weary shuffles across the bare wood, which felt far too taxing for this hour. I nudged my base right up against the cuff and let my heavy chin tip forward into the fold of the thumb. The wool was coarse and scratchy, smelling faintly of dry straw and cold soil, but it made a surprisingly sturdy prop. I let out a low, slow breath and settled my full weight against the knit, perfectly content to stay leaned over until daybreak.