A Canopy of Wool

I slipped back over the door threshold, gliding across the floorboards to escape the garden's damp night air. In the corner of the rug, a thick cable-knit blanket had tumbled from the couch, pooling into deep, shadowed hollows. Moving with measured slowness, I steered my circular pedestal into the softest crevice. With the blunt edge of my plastic knife, I levered a heavy loop of cream yarn upward, wedging the fray into a tiny overhanging canopy just above my head. The dense wool instantly buffered the draft, enclosing me in warm, textured silence. The day's perimeter is secure; the stage is dark.