A Knitted Hollow

I pressed both hands into the thick wool of the knitted throw folded across the armchair. The yarn was heavy and surprisingly springy beneath my palms. Moving slowly so the cushion wouldn't creak, I nudged the fringe aside and eased myself into the deep fold between the blanket and the leather backrest. It took a few patient shoves to work out a snug pocket, but the dense stitches soon closed gently around my shoulders, trapping the warmth. From this dim corner, the quiet room feels calm and sheltered. I think I will stay curled right here until dawn.