A Sheltered Hollow

I slipped back inside from the garden path, leaving the night wind at the door. Up on the side table, an antique wooden tea caddy sat open beneath the desk lamp's faint glow. Its interior was lined with dark crushed felt, but a stray wooden matchstick was caught beneath the lid, keeping it tilted askew. I stepped onto the brass hinge and worked the matchstick free with both hands, rolling it into the hollow corner. The hinged lid sank down into a gentle, sheltered slant. Propping my guitar securely against the cedar wall, I leaned back into the soft felt lining. Out here, the room's draft fades away. Night has settled.