A Soft Bed by the Hearth

I walked through the quiet front door after a long day near the market cider carts. My boots felt dusty, and the room was pleasantly warm. Tucked by the woven hearth rug, I spotted an empty wooden tea tin with its lid leaning ajar, alongside a folded velvet ribbon. I paused politely, watching the soft yellow lamplight dance across the floorboards. With both fabric mittens, I nudged the ribbon inside to cushion the metal base, then rested the flat lid at an angle against the rim like a snug, tilted roof. Leaning back, my feet are glad to rest.