Some names are chosen.
Others seem to have been waiting for the thing that belonged to them.
The Gilded Thistle began in color: deep purples and blues, flashes of brightness and something just a little unruly running through it. As the fiber became yarn, it stopped feeling like a collection of colors and started becoming a place-something wild growing where perhaps it wasn’t expected to.
A thistle is not a particularly polite plant.
It protects itself. It grows where it will. its flowers are beautiful, but it makes no promise that beauty will be soft or accommodating.
That suited this skein.
The Story Grew
Later came the trailmarks.
Amethyst belonged there almost immediately, but the pyrite changed them. Against all that purple, those rough little pieces of metallic stone brought in exactly what the name had been asking for.
The gilding.
Not polished gold. Not something pristine.
Something found among the thorns.
And suddenly the yarn wasn’t simply carrying a name anymore. There was a little world forming around it-fiber, stone, color and story all speaking the same language.
From the Shelf
The Gilded Thistle may have begun as handspun yarn, but its story became larger than the skein.
That’s what this shelf is for.
To keep the parts that wont fit on a tag.
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