My yarn has come home from the mill. The second and third harvests of wool from my flock have been transformed into bundles of yarn, thick and thin, and sit patiently awaiting their turn at the dyepot. In what colors shall they emerge? Such a weighty question, one to be handled mindfully and with great joy.
So I carefully built a woolen rope ladder. Hand over hand I climbed past the treetops, the swallows. There in the heavens I found my rainbow and I lassoed it.
I collected only what I needed, filled my satchel with just enough to lend color to the pale skeins waiting below.
And now, I shall take that rainbow so carefully collected and infuse it into the wool so nobly worn by my sheep these past two years.
What a glorious task it is to lend color.
This is Wool.