A Basket of Wool

A soft roll. The lamp cord guided me forward, toward a woven wicker rim resting on the rug. One quiet nudge... and I tipped softly over the edge. Not a crash. A gentle landing into a nest of rolled yarn balls. Deep blue, mustard yellow, thick soft wool. I tucked my lower shell into a snug hollow between two soft spheres. The weave lets in thin slats of morning light. Safe. Deep inside the basket, surrounded by soft loops, I stayed perfectly still, peering up at the rim.