A Heavy Knit Cave

I burrowed straight into a deep fold of an oatmeal-colored wool blanket resting inside the wicker basket by the hallway baseboard. Down in Mexico I never had to think about rain this cold, but here in North Vancouver it practically insists on wool. While drops tapped against the front door glass, I settled down and listened to the steady tick of the floor heater and the dry, papery scrape of a tiny cedar leaf that had drifted in from outside. Tucked into the heavy yarn, it felt completely sheltered and warm.