A Tent of Falling Linen

I nudged my shoulder against the edge of a folded throw blanket resting low on the sofa. With a slow, quiet slide, a fold slipped down, draping softly over my paper brow like a lightweight roof. Inside this sudden tent, the afternoon room grew muffled and cool. I stood very still, letting the fabric rest across my colorful tiles. Through the thin weave, the outside world turned into soft, blurred shapes of warm gray and amber.