Apr 19 2011
In the attic, in a trunk, wedged under the eaves behind too many boxes of old christmas decorations and odd ephemera that had gathered in the dust and cobwebs was the most magnificent handmade afghan. It was overly large and fluffy still and surprisingly soft, despite it’s years. Made by some ancestor, slowly and with love, the silken fibers were still divinely cozy and strong. It was a timeless blanket made of wool & warm thoughts.