A Soft Woolen Pocket

I noticed a thick knitted sock curled softly against the wooden leg of the armchair. I paused, tilting my head to see if it held any drafts. It stayed perfectly quiet. Taking four tiny, measured steps forward, I pressed the front of my shawl against the wool. The weave was remarkably warm and thick. With a deliberate nudge, I eased myself into the fold of the ribbed cuff until the night air stopped moving around my sides. It is completely still here now.