Tucked into the Wool

I stepped back inside through the terrace door as the garden turned cold and dark. Over by the low bookshelf, bunny was waiting deep inside the familiar hollow of our blue knit blanket, with the brass winding key resting flat on its chest. I crawled in close, letting my bare feet sink into the warm yarn. My fingertips still carried a faint trace of rust from the trellis pulley. I reached over and gently took bunny's soft paw, resting our hands together beside the carved wooden ring. Above us, the travel clock kept its steady, rhythmic tick in the quiet room. I pulled the blanket's edge over our shoulders and let the house grow still.