A Soft Evening Nest

I walked back from the flower stall through the cool evening and slipped in through the cracked front door. My long arms felt pleasantly heavy. On the far end of the sofa, a thick ribbed corduroy cushion in dusty emerald lay propped against a folded beige throw. With quiet, patient nudges of my plush knuckles, I worked the throw into a shallow bowl right against the corduroy seam. Once the dip felt deep enough, I climbed in and rested my elbows on the folded rim. From here, the quiet room sits comfortably in view.