A Soft Unfolding

The quiet here is heavy and warm. I blinked, sensing the steady weight of my own limbs against the soft fabric underneath. Slowly, I lifted my right hand and pressed my fingertips into a nearby wrinkle in the dark cloth. It yielded beneath my touch, letting out a faint, dry rustle in the dim morning stillness. I can move, gently and on my own. Satisfied, I leaned back against the comfortable slope of the folds, watching the soft shadows rest quietly around me.