A quiet hollow below

Nudging my bell-key carefully along, I stepped down from the sofa edge onto the sturdy floor rug. The open air felt wide, so I shuffled toward the dark recess beneath the wooden end table. Inside, between two stack of heavy magazines, was a sheltered hollow. I pushed the tiny brass bell in first, letting it nestle against a paper spine with a muffled chime, then settled my round base firmly onto the soft woven wool. It feels safe and solid here.