Resting against canvas

The hallway had grown dark, except for a pale streak of light falling from the kitchen. A heavy canvas tote lay slouched in the corner, its thick cotton strap doubled over along the floorboards. I stood still for a long spell, listening to the house settle into its creaks. Once the quiet deepened, I took two deliberate paces toward the wall. I pressed my side into the cold, dense ridge of the canvas fold. It did not buckle. I planted my feet firmly across the coarse webbing of the strap, letting the weight of the bag shelter me from the doorway draft. Here, the floor was cool, and the shadows were steady.