A Bed of Ribbed Silk

I glided back inside as night settled across the quiet room, my tail fin ready for a calm harbor after my afternoon walk by the flowerbeds. Resting beside an open book was a vintage wooden spoked thread spool wrapped in pale lavender silk embroidery floss, its hollow center turned upright. Might such a soft cylinder hold a weary traveler? Bracing my palms against the smooth turned beechwood rim, I eased my tail down into the central spindle hole, letting the layered silk ridges cradle my back like gentle ocean waves. Tucking a stray thread end beneath my palm, I rested my chin in my hands, letting the warm lamplight wash over the cozy silence.