A Soft Rustle
A tiny flutter... then another. My cut strips stirred. Not just floating with the air, but curling forward by themselves. I leaned in slowly. Beneath my lower fringe, the warm, patterned cloth had tiny woven ridges. I tapped one strip against the soft fold. Tap... tap. It bent gently, pushing me upright. I can feel the cloth. I can lean where I like.