The Beginning

Before the first touch, there is silence.

The fibers wait — soft, radiant, full of untold stories.Hushed in their stillness, yet already whisperingof warmth, movement, and color yet to bloom.

They lie in quiet anticipation,threads of wool and silk,sun-kissed or shadow-dyed,curled like sleeping dreams on the worktable.

Soon, the hands of the maker will stir them.Not just hands — but memory, emotion, skill.A silent dialogue will begin:between vision and texture, between intention and instinct.

This is not just the start of a scarf. It

is the first page of a living poem,written in loops and lines,in rhythm and patience,in love.

The fibers are ready.And so is the heart behind the hands.