Shelter of Memphis: Old Kingdom Pattern Throw Blanket

The sun dies behind the western cliffs and the air turns to ice. You shiver. Fools from the northern islands think Kemet is only burning sand, but they have never stood the night watch on a temple roof in the month of Khoiak. The chill sinks into the marrow. The teeth chatter. Look at this covering. It bears the true proportions of the Old Kingdom. The geometry of the first mastabas at Saqqara, from the centuries before the craftsmen grew lazy and soft. See the steps of the false door, the precise alignment where the Ka enters to receive offerings. Red ochre, turquoise, the deep black of the river’s silt. Ma'at woven directly into the thread. I despise the chaotic patterns the foreign merchants bring to the Delta markets. Meaningless shapes. Tangled lines that invite Isfet into your home. A bed covering must do more than hold heat. It must protect you from the night terrors, from the wandering, restless dead who slip through the dark to steal the breath of the living. This cloth is heavy. Impossibly soft against the skin. Wrap yourself in the mathematics of the pyramid builders. It holds the residual heat of the sun god's daytime barque. Lay it across your sleeping couch. Pull it over your chest when the desert wind howls down the river valley. The weight rests on your shoulders, pressing you firmly to the earth.