Tucked in Canvas

I inched away from the potted geranium across the cool porch floorboards toward a heavy canvas apron folded on the bench. Pausing with a quiet murmur, I tested the wide front pocket with a cautious tentacle. The thick duck cloth felt sturdy and dry, carrying a faint scent of dried herbs. Slowly and carefully, I eased myself into the deep fabric fold, letting my tentacles settle into the snug corner. Turning my silver spoon around, I wedged its curved bowl flat across the open hem like a little latch against the evening breeze, letting out a sleepy murmur into the warm, quiet dark.