Doll Can Create

In the Stillness, the Thread Unwinds

The world hums warm beyond my window,

but here, in this cool cocoon,

time softens its edges.

The spindle turns like a whispered prayer,

each twist a story,

each draft a sigh of peace.

Wool slips through my fingers—

ancient, gentle, knowing.

It remembers the sheep,

the pasture, the wind.

Knitting waits patiently beside me,

loops and rows like heartbeats,

quietly stitching joy into being.

In this hush, I am enough.

No striving, no noise—

just the sacred rhythm of hand and fiber,

and the deep exhale of summer grace.

Join me?