Weave words together into a blanket of warmth and stars for children to snuggle under, painting the galaxy above them, finding their place in the world, soft in the dark
They had learned to weave from birth, it seemed. She watched the weavers at their looms, their sleeping babies curled up in the slings on the mothers’ backs, lulled to sleep by he thudding of the beater on the finished cloth.
Chanpheng
Her wrinkled hands held the yard in the dim candle light and methodically moved strand over strand, just as her mother and grandmother before her had done. The blanket was days from finished, but time was all she had.
Weave words together into a blanket of warmth and stars for children to snuggle under, painting the galaxy above them, finding their place in the world, soft in the dark
They had learned to weave from birth, it seemed. She watched the weavers at their looms, their sleeping babies curled up in the slings on the mothers’ backs, lulled to sleep by he thudding of the beater on the finished cloth.
Her wrinkled hands held the yard in the dim candle light and methodically moved strand over strand, just as her mother and grandmother before her had done. The blanket was days from finished, but time was all she had.