The Scarf Hollow

My footsteps slowed beside the low wooden bookshelf. Between two heavy, dark books, someone had left a folded knit scarf... soft and moss-green. I paused, watching the quiet wool threads catch the amber lamplight. Step by step, I crept into the hollow. I reached out and gently smoothed down the curled fringe with both hands, making a neat, flat line. Then I sat down, tucking my legs beneath me against the woolly folds. It smelled faintly of dry cedar and warm tea... a quiet, still shelter for the night.