Woolen Tracks

I steered my front tire off the bare floorboards and plunged into the thick weave of the braided wool rug. The dense loops immediately gripped my rubber treads, smothering the familiar hum of the spokes into total silence. Instead of backing away, I leaned forward over the handlebars and leaned into the resistance, carving a slow, deliberate furrow through the cream-colored yarn. Near the cool brick border of the hearth, a natural dip between two heavy braided coils formed a snug hollow. I eased my front wheel right into the pocket and clicked the kickstand down. It sank into the soft wool, locking the bike perfectly upright without a wobble. Parked in the warm pile, there is no need to roll another inch tonight.