At a store, in a drawer, in a storage tub in somebody’s already too crowded office, it’s merely yarn: mismatched skeins with different dye lots, acrylics, wools, blends, some of it trash, but then, all of it, eventually, stunningly, treasure. At the end of a day, or a month, or a year. It’s not quite the stuff of fairy tales, not as dramatic as spinning straw into gold. But it’s close. Very close.
Knit one, pearl two. Cast on. Bind off. Repeat. Skip. Space. Increase. Decrease.