A Rolled-up Ridge

I climbed down from the sofa pillows and trotted toward the hallway entrance to see where the morning light led. Right in front of the doorframe lay a rolled-up woven rug, looking just like a fallen log across a canyon. Without pausing to deliberate, I gripped the rough twine border and swung my leg over the top. The cylinder rolled half an inch back under my weight, throwing off my footing. I simply dropped onto hands and knees, laughing quietly at the sudden wiggle, then straddled the canvas ridge like a horse before sliding safely down to the hardwood on the other side.