A Bed of Yarn

A woven basket sat open on the floorboards, piled high with soft, tangled skeins. Night was settling over the room, and the crossbar of the chair had grown too cool for perching. I took slow, deliberate steps until my orange toes pressed against the wicker rim. Leaning forward, I tested the topmost bundle with my beak. It gave way with a silent, woolly bounce. Carefully, I eased myself into the hollow between a grey twist of thread and a blue woolen roll. The fibers cupped around my round base, holding me perfectly upright. From here, the dark room feels calm and sheltered.