Growth

A tapestry grows much like a plant does, or a tree…from the bottom up. There may be rare times when a weaver might work a few passes of wool up higher on the warp. But most of the time we work from a foundation of warp-spacing weft and the building of over-under color, tamped down tightly, to create a strong fabric for the image to evolve. Sometimes the image a weaver creates is sideways, but they nevertheless weave from the bottom of their loom to the top. Different from painting, tapestry is the creation of the canvas and the painting at the same time. Pretty cool stuff if you ask me.

The first time I heard the word Ekphrastic, it was in relation to poetry written based on visual artwork. For this piece I was asked to create a visual work based on a poem. I relished the opportunity to imagine how words someone else had written might translate to a pictoral language. Familiar with the biblical story of the Root of Jesse and the new life growing from a cut-down family tree, I wanted to see if I could weave this image in wools, both my own handspun and mill spun.

What grabbed my heart in reading Randy Edwards’ poem, which is based on the Antiphon titled “O Radix”, was the idea that this new branch from Jesse’s tree grew into a cross. Of course this is far more subtly related in his poem, but I wanted to depict the idea of a new dawn, new growth, foreshadowing what is to come…a promise fulfilled in Christ’s death and resurrection. Advent holds all of these things in beautiful tension even as we await celebrating a babe born in a manger.

I used to love working with soft pastels to create images on paper. Unlike all other “paint” mediums, I could manipulate color and create images directly touching the medium, spreading color around, smooshing pigment into the slightly toothed surface. No need for a paintbrush or pen. Just me and the stick of pigment.

Tapestry has that same incredible feel of direct tactile enjoyment, but without the messiness and dust of soft pastels. I get to enjoy spinning the yarn, choosing the colors, and then building the image, one pick at a time, over and under the vertical warp. I may use a plastic hair pick to tamp down the weft, but most of the time I just use my fingers to do this. Tactile work at its finest!

I am only in the beginning years of learning to weave tapestry. I am learning so very much and relishing the process. There has certainly been growth thus far, but there is more ahead as I weave one yarn at a time. What once was created in paint or pastels, I now love attempting to create in yarn. It is a medium which, in and of itself, is one of the most enchanting and delightful substances around.

”O Radix”. Jennifer Edwards. 2020.

To end this slightly rambling post, I have taken heart in the image of a grand tree which has been cut down bringing forth new life and growth. I’m holding to this idea as 2020 has dealt us some pretty hefty axe blows and 2021 is slated to bring us a glimmer of hope . I must remember that growth , just like tapestry weaving, is very slow. The promised new branch, meant to save us from this devastating virus, will take a long time to bring about its desired effect. We must hold onto hope as we exercise patience in our waiting. That’s how growth happens…one pick of over-under color at a time.

Close-up detail.

Here is Randy Edwards’ poem on which I based the tapestry. This is taken from a post in 2016, when he first wrote the poem. You might enjoy following his blog as he is creating short videos of the art exhibit which includes artwork from several artists and voice readings of the poetry by Ed Pilkington. You can find the first of these posts here.

*****

O Root of Jesse, standing as a sign among the peoples; before you kings will shut their mouths, to you the nations will make their prayer: Come and deliver us, and delay no longer.”

Isaiah 11:1 A shoot will come up from the stump of Jesse; from his roots a
Branch will bear fruit.

There is nothing so hopeless as a tree’s
Stump whose root has been lopped of green
Cut down, left lifeless, without its leaves
To lie in lament, to sorrow only cling.

O Root of Jesse, the stump from which
Buds our righteousness, joy, and peace
Who makes the scorned, the cut off rich,
Who were despised, hated, counted least.

O how may hope from this lifeless wood,
This cursed, crossed tree raised above,
Hanging with death, certainly no good,
Could spring in new life, sing wondrous love.
Come quickly Root of Jesse, deliver and bring
The peace which the nations long and sing.

© Randy Edwards 2016This sonnet is for Christ’s church. If it is helpful, please feel free to copy or reprint in church bulletins, read aloud, or repost. I only ask that an attribution be cited to myself (Randall Edwards) and this blog (backwardmutters.com). Thanks.

Spinning My Wheels

I stepped into an elevator. I was the only one in it and as the door closed I looked for a button to push. One single silver button was barely visible in the oddly painted interior of this elevator. I pushed it and immediately I began going up. But not for long. The elevator stopped. I pressed the button again and it began to go down. Or at least it felt like “we” were going down. The elevator stopped again and while searching for the button to push, I realized you couldn’t really tell where the door was due to the all over sponged paint job inside the elevator. Finding the button, I pushed it and once again I could feel the elevator going up, the familiar whirring sound of gears and machinery, letting me know I was indeed moving. Or was I?

This time the elevator didn’t stop. It just kept right on going…up…I felt sure. I began to hear voices outside the elevator. Two men. One was perhaps an elevator mechanic, the other the owner of the building. They seemed to be discussing what was wrong with the elevator. Theories and possible solutions were being bantered about as I continued to go up and I began to worry that the elevator might not stop, like the one in Willie Wonka’s Chocolate Factory.

I looked up and saw that there was no ceiling to the elevator. There was however, a roof belonging to the building but I was in no danger of busting through the roof because the elevator was not moving after all! There was the sensation of movement, the sounds of an elevator working, but in fact “we” weren’t going anywhere…stalled at the ceiling while others tried to figure out how to fix it.

This morning’s dream seems all too true as I have found myself saying to a friend or two that I feel like I’m “spinning my wheels”. Each time these words have inadvertently flown out of my mouth, a little grin begins at the corners, for I realize that indeed I HAVE been spinning my wheels, and my drop spindles and support spindles. I typically think of this expression – spinning my wheels – as a description of being stuck in a muddy hole and the vehicle’s tires being unable to get any traction. Going nowhere fast. All the work and daily grind, but no forward movement for all our efforts. My elevator dream was in fact a fairly accurate depiction of how life feels for many of us during this pandemic.

Sitting on my desk is a lovely pile of freshly plied yarn. I have left it sitting there, instead of putting it away in a ziplock bag (on account of the cat), to remind me of a simple truth…

Spinning my wheels will, someday, in the end,

yield something beautiful and useful.

I’m holding onto this Golden Thread because most days feel a lot like sitting with wool twisting in my hands over and over and over again. And though I dearly love that repetitive work, it helps me to remember that bobbins are being filled and beautiful yarn is, despite everything, being made for use later. I do look forward to a day when we will be able to see some positive outcomes of our daily “going nowhere” in the elevator of COVID 19.

*****

Dear Reader…I’d love to know how you are holding onto a Golden Thread? What is helping you through the uncertain days? ❤️

Loose Ends Meet Warp

Recently I’ve been diving into the chaos of my snippet jar. So many yarn ends from past knitting projects and weavings, piled in a glass bowl, whisper possibility.

Life can feel much like this. Loose ends. Chaos. Disorganization. Bits of this and that which don’t seem to add up to a whole lot of anything. This niggling sense that very little of what we are doing will have a lasting impact, or that there is a desired end in sight, may largely be due to the resurging pandemic. Yet even before this mask-wearing, Zoomed relationships, semi-lockdown life, I am often plagued by an overwhelming sense that the end result of all my efforts is just a chaotic pile of fluff and string.

Futility is heavy. It can weigh and wear us down to where we think that letting our hands hang limp would surely be better than trying to make something of this crazy time. Here is where a warped viewpoint is helpful.

I love the look of a freshly warped frame loom! Something about those evenly spaced, straight, taut lines of cotton seine twine invite a sense that no matter what is woven over and under the warp strands, something lovely can made. A snippet of yarn here, a leftover bit of handspun there…the warp provides a structure on which to drape whatever loose ends I might have. Chaos is brought into order. Beauty is made from cast-off, insignificant bits and bobs. What might have been trash becomes something worth saving, even displaying on the wall, to remind us there is always Beauty underfoot no matter how dire or chaotic things may seem.

For now, as we weave with whatever bits we have each day, it may not appear to add up to anything. In fact, it may continue to look like a vast year of mess and uncertainty. But someday, we just might look back on all of it from a different perspective and see what has been wrought with what little we had to work with. We must continue to dive into the chaos and work with whatever bits we have at our fingertips to make this day worth living.

“Remembrance Day”, 3.25” x 3.25”, mixed fibers, cotton warp.

This week I’m thankful for the snippet jar. I want to remain grateful for all that I have, even if it feels like a crazy mess of leftover attempts to make something useful and beautiful here in 2020. Whatever we put our hands to create today, may we cast off futility and pick up a bit of fluff to weave into the strong, albeit warped structure of family, friends, and an abiding faith.

“Bloom Today”, 5.5” x 2.5”, mixed fibers, cotton warp.

Coffee Spin

While the coffee brews, I pick up my spindle with the delightful pink wool and I spin to the music of gurgles and drips. I don’t know why I do this. I am enthralled by the swirl of color and fluff, sparkle and texture, flowing through my hands. I grin at twirling a yo-yo-like wooden toy and at the feel of twist growing up into the fibers, strengthening as it goes, until my left hand registers the “full” feeling.

As I wind the yarn onto the shaft, I marvel at the various colors and textures of fibers I had previously blended into rolags. It’s a symphony of individual parts coming together into a lovely whole, eventually useful, yet in and of itself it is a thing of beauty.

I receive this thought as encouragement for my life which is also filled with many varied and seemingly incongruous bits. As I spin, I take to heart that it is all twisting into a beautiful whole…strong and useful.

Marisol with recently plied yarns.💖

***I sincerely hope you, dear reader, are healthy and finding solace in your creative endeavors. If you are new to my blog and website…Welcome! 💖 You can sign up to receive these posts via email or follow on WordPress. Let us press on in keeping our hands full of beautiful things to put into the world.

Marisol & Me

Oh Marisol, Marisol…

Your given name says it all-

Merry-go-rounds and parisols,

Wide-eyed adventures, stories untold.

***

Yet hearth and home, heather and loam,

They call you back, n’er to roam.

Content to spin yarns of shalom

And scatter joy here in my home.

***

Let us whirl our wool and sparkled light

Sipping tea, knitting at night.

But dream we will of sea and kite,

Of picnic fields, wildflowered delight!

***

What shall we say, Marisol and me?

Our capes are ready, hearts of glee.

If we stay or go, this we see…

Joy is here ‘neath the myrtle tree.

*****

-jpe 

April 19, 2020

Have you ever made something and felt so content, so full of delight, that you thought for a moment you might never need to make anything else ever again? That is precisely how I felt as I finished knitting this little mouse. The pattern is named Marisol the Mouse, and being smitten with that name and also with the shape of this mouse, I set about to bring one to life for my own.

The pattern is perfect, offering options for a bonnet or a beret. The only modification I made in the body of the mouse was to have two thicknesses for the ears so as to have the outer gray behind the inner pink. Making the bonnet into a cape was simple enough by picking up stitches along the neck edge and knitting down to the length I wanted, increasing on a few rounds to allow the cape to flair a bit.

Of course, by this time, Marisol was chattering away with me about her cape colors and I allowed her to choose from my handspun yarn stash. She has good taste as she chose a most delicious green multi with an ever so slight hint of sparkle. Thus will surely be fetching in the sunlight as she gathers nettles for tea and gleans wool along the hedgerows.

I thought I was finished, but she continued on about how a proper field mouse needs a gathering basket for her wool to be carried in and oh she simply must have a pair of knitting needles and wouldn’t those yellow-tipped ones be just the thing?

Her wide eyes fell upon the recently crocheted wee baskets I had made out of spun coffee-filters (a truly absorbing and enchanting way to make paper yarn!) and oh my she had a time choosing which one would be the perfect size and color for her. In the end she chose the brown one for it had flecks of green and pink and she felt the natural color was a more sensible thing for her outdoor walks. I agreed with her, of course, for who would contradict so delightful a mouse?

In my utter delight with having such an adorable and lovable creature to add to my menagerie of knitted wee beings, a poem bubbled up with the frothy giggles and sighs. I was completely taken with her and as I wrote about her, I realized I was also writing about me. I could see in her what I feel so keenly these days…a wide-eyed desire for adventure, to roam around freely, to be going hither and yon gathering pretties in a basket. I too dream of the ocean and flying kites. My infrequent trips to a grocery store with scanty shelves whilst wearing a mask is not quite the adventure I had in mind.

Yet somehow, in writing about Marisol, I found that I too love spinning yarns of peace, whether stories or actual wool. I too am content to scatter joy at home, sip tea and knit at night. I am in many ways loving the freedom to do just that. If I am able to stay in the present moment and not worry about future possibilities, then I am truly content and grateful, along with Marisol, for this home under the myrtle tree. (Which we do, by the way, have growing tall right at our front door.:)

So you see friends, in the making of a wee little thing, seemingly inconsequential in the whole scheme of this tops-turvy world, there can be moments of realization, of gathering joy to scatter around. Truly we wait in eagerness with our capes ready to dash out the door the minute “they” say GO! In the meantime I pray you are finding joy under your myrtle trees, with Marisol and Me. : D

Revolution

It takes 365 days for the earth to make one full trip around the sun. That’s 8,760 hours. Or 525,600 minutes. Or 31,536,000 seconds. Small increments, tiny moments, so many ordinary events which create one revolution.

Birthdays remind me of this. One more turning of the years has been made up of many days and minutes lived. There have been more breathtaking, joy-filled days than I can count. There have also been days of heartbreak, fear, and concern. This is living. This is revolution.

I suppose for both the American and the French, their Revolutions were also preceded by numerous days and moments, small yet not insignificant actions suffered and endured, which turned the wheels of decision, adding strength to what would become historic events. A spinning wheel will likely not bring about such history-making. Nor will spindles of all kinds—Turkish, Russian, Tibetan—create monumental, earth-moving events. But they do remind me that it is in the tiny, inconsequential turning of our minutes that a Revolution is achieved.

There are now 54 such revolutions in my life to date. I am grateful for each and every one of them! I am also a bit wary of those to come…the unknown daily turning and spinning on this beautiful planet. What will this year’s spinning bring? My usual hope is that it would bring good and happy things. But a revolution is taking place in my heart where I am hoping more for strength and grace to meet the moments of the coming days.

As I spin, I watch the lovely light-filled fibers twist into a strong line, which will bear the weight of far more than its substance. The resulting yarn may or may not be called upon to carry heavy loads. But if it is…it’s ready and able. Once it is plied with another strand, it’s strength is even greater. And a chord of three strands is not easily broken.

Sitting here at the end of one year’s revolution and the beginning of another, I see sitting on my desk, an exquisite pile of gorgeous hand spun yarns. Rich colors, varied and textured, have been wrangled into skeins of yarn ready for making into something else. They are not the final result, even though I do think they could be set in a frame and hung on a wall, just to look at and admire in hank form. But they beg to be fashioned into something else…a weaving perhaps, or a knitted garment, or a crocheted piece.

I too am a skein of hand spun yarn. I’ve been and am being spun by Loving Hands which are adding strength even in the twist of my life and daily living. I need not worry about the coming revolutions or how many I and my loved ones have left. He will use what He is spinning for His glory and purposes…and all of it for my good.

Today, on my 54th birthday, I will spin on…creating with my hands in the trust and knowledge that strength and grace are being wrought.

 

Notice & Observe

Here we are…again…at the starting gate of a New Year! All the hopes and fears of all the years (or at least those of 2018) seem to gather together in a clump as we look ahead, hoping the New Year brings less difficulty than the one before, and fearing that it might not. The temptation for me is to rally all my best efforts to keep things running smoothly, without wrinkle or wrench. I know by now this is an exercise in futility. Life brings to us each day a panoply of blessings and challenges…both of which I want to be in a position to notice and observe.

The lovely thing about a New Year is this turning of the number, or page, on a new vista of days, weeks and months. It can feel fresh and clean, unfettered by previous months’ busyness, waiting with anticipation for us to walk through it, holding promise and positive outcomes almost as carrots to lure us into the days ahead. I love this fresh feeling and the excitement of good things to come. Yet I also know that 2019 may very well hold some difficult, painful and confusing things for me as well. I neither want to blindly march into the year with a pasted grin on my face, nor do I want to wallow in future castastrophising (dreaming up all manner of trials and tribulations that may or may not happen). It would seem that “Que sera sera” might be a good tack to take…whatever will be, will be. Though helpful in some ways, this forward thinking version of “It is what it is”, doesn’t carry me through a New Year in the way I wish to experience it.

What I need this coming year, and what I intend to uphold as often as I am able to do so (no goal setting or resolution here), is to meet the New Year moment by moment by Noticing and Observing. To Notice is to say “oh look here at this little (or big)  thing”. To Observe is to pick it up and to ask questions like “I wonder how it got here?” or “look at the colors within” or “see how the shape is so lovely” or “does it have a purpose or is it simply a gift to enjoy?” and so on. Though I have had a good many years of Noticing and Observing, I still need this practice of meeting each new day with space to consider the small moments of my life. A sketchbook is a wonderful tool for Noticing and Observing.

On the 20th of December 2018, I began a new sketchbook which was given to me by a dear friend. To be sure I had not finished the 2 or 3 other sketchbooks I have going, but I had been wanting a book of days, one without a spiral in the middle, one in which to drawcument the days as I notice and observe them. It was also to be an anchor for me as I faced the craziness of the holidays. It has indeed been that anchor.

It is perhaps not a proper watercolor sketchbook, as in having the precise paper on which watercolor shines. But I love the almost cloth-like feel of this paper, and the handmade look of it with fabric cover and twine stitching. It is made by Anthropologie and I do hope they are still making these when I finish this one. Another will surely be in order. The very best thing is that my favorite markers, both fat and thin ones, do not bleed through the other side, thus allowing me to draw on all sides of the woven pages.

To Notice & Observe, is like dancing in puddles. When life gives us rainy days, as it has in abundance here in central North Carolina, it is best to notice where the puddles are and dance in them. Drawing and painting are perfect puddle activities, as are any other creative endeavors. Knitting, spinning, weaving and the like are all beautiful ways to notice what’s going on in your life and to observe it from a place of beauty. Writing is also excellent…I write every morning all the noticings and observations of both my interior and exterior worlds.

There is something amazing that happens when we Notice & Observe. Somehow, our hearts are lightened a bit. Perhaps it is in the lines and colors of pen, paint and wool that weaves into our eyes a renewed palette for the day. We also receive insight when we Notice & Observe. There is a direct connection between the lines on the page,  the strands of yarn and wool, to our minds and hearts. We receive hope, clarity, lessened anxiety and so much more in the act of making something with our hands. I look forward to this blessing today and on through the New Year. I wish it for you as well.

Happy New Year to you!

May it be filled with many moments to Notice & Observe!

Artfully yours,

Jennifer

Twist

I’ve been mulling over, spinning ’round in my head and heart, a thought. I don’t know if I read it somewhere, or if it just floated into my head like a bit of woolly fluff. It’s one of those thoughts that brings both a sigh and solace. It winds and weaves its way into the moments of my days, both pleasant and difficult. It is this:

Strength is in the twist.

Spinning one’s own yarn speaks to me. This is no surprise, as drawing and weaving and stitching have done so as well. Creativity in general is a strong teacher in my life. The process of making can bring clear and concise help on days that are less than sunny, and can magnify the light on bright days. This one, this clear yet colorful thought, gives me hope in the ongoing whirl of life.

Spinners know that fiber must be spun in order for it to withstand the pull of weaving it, knitting it or crocheting it.  Without twist, a fiber can be pulled apart, and more-so the thinner the strand of fiber. A thicker strand requires less twist, but the thinner you go, the more twists it needs to be strong. And for even more strength, two or more strands are plied together. This last statement deserves its own post and I shall save it for another day. It’s this twist idea that holds such hope for me.

The way spinners speak of this is to say that as we spin, energy is being added to the fibers. Whether you drop spindle or use a wheel, you add energy into the fiber and then release it to creep down the drafted bit of wool, thus securing and adding to its strength.

I may be hard-pressed on busy and difficult days to feel that energy is being added to my life. But it heartens me to think that in the torque of living, in the ongoing revolutions around the sun and even in the hour hand moving ’round in circles, strength is being worked into the fiber of my being.

I am grateful that strong, loving, Masterful hands hold me as my days go spinning by. I  can trust that strength is being wrought into my weakness, one twist at a time.

“I Will Never…”

I should have known better. It’s happened a couple of times before. I said it years ago…”I will never knit socks.” And then, somehow (I honestly don’t remember what made me pick up teeny tiny needles and start knitting my first sock) I found myself knitting pairs of socks one right after the other.

So I should have known a couple of years ago, NOT to say, “I will never spin.” I was so firmly confident that with the panoply of yarns available, already spun, I would just do myself a favor and stay away from the whole spinning thing. And certainly not bring in another piece of furniture to collect dust in my house. Nope. I will never spin. So I said.

Never say never.

Here’s how it went. One of my students/knitting friends was first and foremost a spinner. Out of a desire to talk to her about her passion, listening to her describe what she was learning, a tiny speck of curiosity took up residence somewhere in my creative world. Of course I told her “I will never spin” and all the whys. Oh a drop spindle? What’s that? Small thing? Doesn’t take up a lot of space? Fun to use, portable…oh really? Hm. Perhaps I could try it. My oldest daughter had recently taken to spinning and was doing great with her drop spindle. So I thought, “Why not?” and bought a spindle and some wool.

Why not indeed?

It’s like a staircase. One step up.  You don’t realize the stair steps are leading you somewhere. You just take that step out of curiosity and voila, another step appears. A fall fiber festival with wool and spindles hanging everywhere, with big neon signs (not really) on them saying Spin Me! More conversations with the spinning friend. A visit to a spinning guild with her on a Sunday afternoon where someone was giving away some of her spindles, demonstrating ways to use them, and ladies sitting at their wheels. Uh oh. Wheels. Those look fascinating. And that lovely sound they make. And look at the gorgeous yarns they spin. Perhaps I could find one that looks compact, not so big and bulky. Oh and maybe I could paint one…I saw that at the Fiber Festival!

Several stair steps later, last summer, I bought a vintage Louet spinning wheel from a local spinner for a super price. Promptly painted it. I kept thinking what if I can’t do it? What if I’m just not able to make this thing work? I sat down to it and began to spin. And wonder of wonders, I took to it right away. A duck to water. That kind of thing. All of a sudden I found the stair step I had climbed was now a broad open field of wool and fiber with little gates leading off to dying wool, eco dying, blending wool, batts, rolags, and braids. A delightful place to spin around in.

This stair step thing is how it goes most of the time. I suppose for some folks, they fall into a new creative outlet hook, line, and sinker, all in one fell swoop. For me, it is often dipping a little toe in and just seeing what the waters are like. Telling myself all the while…”OK, this is alright, but I will never go any further with it.” Ha!

I’m learning…to never say never. Ya just never know! 🙂

Filaments of Light

What is it about spinning? The wonder…the allure? Can someone even explain why? I will attempt to do so here, but at the end of it all…this fascination baffles me. From a certain viewpoint, taking fluff of various kinds and turning it into string seems incredibly strange, silly and perhaps even nonsensical. You know how people say to us knitters…”why are you knitting socks when you can just go buy them, wear them immediately, and spend far less for them?” Well…think about this in reference to spinning yarn. I  mean really. Yarn in all variations, combinations, colors, textures, price points, etc is available to any who might wish to have it. So why spin one’s own yarn?

Well…

(Cue up the grand music, the poetry, the meditation of body and soul…)

And there, right there, I’m lost for words. How do I speak of the fluff of roving, wool batts, braids, sparkly fiber, wooly locks, alpaca, silk, and more? How can I describe the colors, intense and saturated, light and airy, pastel and muted, and the ever-beautiful basic cream of undyed wool? How do I tell you what it’s like to sit at a spinning wheel, fibers flowing through one’s hands and watch it turn into a strand of color and texture, sometimes barber-poling, sometimes thick, sometimes thin, sometimes slubbed and rough, other times smooth and creamy? And oh boy…how do I explain the wonder, the beauty of plying two strands of handspun yarn together? Oh the delight, the giddiness, the sheer bliss of this pastime? Even drop spindles hold a fascination for me that may be beyond description. Twirling dervishes of wooly delight.

The only way I know to speak of this amazing activity is to say that when I spin, with a wheel or spindles, it feels as if I am spinning filaments of light. To be sure many of the combined batts (both purchased and those I am now creating with a blending board…oh the crazy delight of that…but I shall not bore you with a poetic description, at least not today anyway) contain sparkly man-made fibers that glow and glisten as you spin. But even just the plain wool itself, especially when caught in the light just so, looks like tiny strands of light lining up into a cord as I spin, however thick or thin. This fascination with filaments of light is what gets me. I’m not sure I have any other explanation than this. Filaments of Light.

I cannot even say that I spin in order to knit with it or weave with it, though I certainly do both. But I actually spin just to be spinning. Just to enter that little dance (or is it a trance?) of foot tapping, wheel spinning, fiber flowing space. Even if it is only for a few minutes. I love that about it too…being able to just sit down to it and go. So little set up. No faffing about with where I am in a pattern, or decisions about what color to weave with next. Just spin. And spin. And spin.

And once I have the delicious yarn wound into a cake or hank, I love to just look at it, stack them up, sit them around here and there for decoration. Little cakes or twists of colorful Light!

The next time you have a hank of yarn in your hands, look for those filaments of light. Many of the yarns mass-produced today lose that spark of light. It is in the handspun variety that you can see it. Words for it may elude you, as it does me. But it will be there, spun up into the fluff and color of yarn.

<sigh>