Sunlight, wood, wool, human hands.
Few things are as beautiful as these.
My borrowed wheel has been oiled and fine-tuned, I have two giant bags of "practice fiber", and I find that as I approach forty, I am also equipped with a patience and perspective Imay have lacked at twenty, to enjoy the process of learning this skill. Add to that two friends who are happy to bring their wheels into the busy whirl of my country kitchen, and I'd say I'm all set.
After lots of play and practice on the drop spindle, I find my hands adopting the rhythms of spinning, communicating with one another and the wool in a way I can only describe as ancient; it is almost as if my hands remember this and only needed an opportunity to try it again. With the generous support and advice of a teacher who came along at just the right time, I'm taking the first steps towards becoming who I've always dreamed:
A woman who spins.