#365 - Wool Blanket 12:49PM

As I lay on my bed right now, a wool blanket is draped on me. It's mostly brown. Periodically, stripes of red, indigo, blue, white, red, orange, and yellow cross its width. It's a repeating pattern across the full length of the blanket. This pattern repeats five times: five sections of colored striping, bookended by brown blocks.

One corner contains a label, showing the maker's mark and manufacturing location. It's a simple, fabric label. It's made of blue canvas, sewn to the blanket with fine blue thread. The label's content is yellow embroidery, proclaiming "Pendelton Woolen Mills," from Portland, Oregon.

As my eyes go slightly out of focus, I can make out shapes in the wool. A face or an animal appears. Sometimes just continuous swirls appear, like wavy hair on a person's head or body.

The blanket is felted wool, mostly smooth, but small tufts of stringy wool dot its surface too. My knees are standing up, and I pull them to my chest. I wrap my arms up and around my bent knees. As I hug my knees, I run my hands over the blanket, around tight curves and into soft valleys. It's warm, almost uncomfortable on top of me.

I let out a sigh, deep and long, and lower my knees so my legs lay flat on the bed. I curl the blanket around my hands, gently pushing it through my fingers. I lay like this for awhile and look up at the ceiling.