A Woolen Rest

I toddled past the front gate and followed the quiet morning sidewalk down to the corner bus shelter. Resting on the low wooden bench slat was a lost cable-knit mitten, thick and heather-gray. I pulled myself up onto the footboard, bracing both curled fists against the cool cedar grain. Leaning forward, I pressed my knuckles into the chunky woolen ribs. The dense yarn gave way with a hushed, springy sigh, holding the faint warmth of the sun in its weave. I rested my cheek down against the soft ribbed cuff, quietly listening to the gentle hum of distant morning traffic drift past.