I set the skeins of baby alpaca on my kitchen table, one in light blue, one in cream. The strands felt soft to the touch, perfect for the long socks I had planned. The cuff would be yellow, as would the toes, a perfect lining between the skin and tall, knee-high boots. Only, in Northwest Florida I wouldn’t need such warm coverings: the socks would go to my sister.
Mary and I are two years apart, but now live with over 1500 miles between us. She tells me how the snow continues to fall in Maine, I describe the beaches but the brisk winter winds. With only a handful of visits each year, she and I sustain our adult friendship through daily chats online, but also through craft itself.
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