“Touching the wools seemed to awaken her a bit, like her fingers remembered something comforting she was trying not to. I soon wondered about a quiet, rising sense that, by releasing her spinning wheel to us, she might come to regret it, this dear old friend she “just wasn’t using anymore,” that had offered her deep solace…” I simply said, “Thank you,” though, collecting the bags and setting them next to the others in the dining room where the spinning wheel sat in parts, leaning up against itself and a wall. She was deciding whether a last bag was meant for us or a friend, and while she did, I scanned the room to look distracted, hoping she might keep some for herself instead.

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