Strings to Follow

She untangled the red Yarn from her sons fingers, watching the little stubs go from white to red and she shook her head, laughing softly to herself. The boy had his face scrunched right up, fighting the tears. Such a big boy. His mother thought to herself as she rewound the bundle and set it aside. He clambered into her lap and waited while she settled herself down.

The knitting needles ticked softly as she began reworking the stitches he’d managed to yank out moments before. The swiftness of her fingers and the tiny increments of growth where strangely mesmorizing and the boy just sat and watched, leaning back against her warm body, sniffling until his eyes were dry.

The yarn was transformed into a soft fluffy blanket and the mother bundled her child up and cradled him in her arms, carrying him up the stairs and into his dreams.

 

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