A Soft Fold

I climbed into the corner of the sofa where a thick knit blanket had tumbled down. It formed a tiny, dim cave beneath a heavy fold of yarn. I slipped halfway inside, resting my chin against the cool ribbed stitching. Through a small gap in the weave, dust motes drifted slowly across a stray stripe of afternoon light. I stayed still, listening to the soft ticking of the wall clock, letting the quiet weight of the wool settle gently over me.