Walking in the early hours of the morning through a gentle shower of snow and seeing the flakes glinting off your sleeves.
Sliding wool socks still warm from drying on the radiator over cold feet.
Picking up your sticks and string with Brenda Dane's voice in your ear.
Realizing your skeins of wool have ceased to be just raw materials and have been transformed into a garment.
Tomorrow we cut it open.