Shelter in the Fleece

I stepped inside from the courtyard chill, my hands still humming from the bicycle bell. Beneath the coat rack, a thick shearling work glove had fallen to the floorboards, its cuff rolled open like a low shelter. I crossed the oak planks and planted my boots straight into the fleece. The dense wool yielded with quiet warmth, shutting out the draft from the threshold. Wedging my back against the sturdy thumb seam, I rested my shoulders against the stitched leather. The hallway fell dark and still, and I let the night settle around me.