Over the winter break, just before Christmas, my mom and sisters and I went down to South Congress avenue to get our aunt a gift. She enjoys sewing and knitting as a hobby, so we went to a wool store by the name of Hill Country Weavers.The place was nothing more than a small green house with a sign of chipped paint. The steps leading up to the front porch creaked softly when we walked up to the small door. But, as we all seem to learn sometime or another, you can never judge anything from the outside, or you will miss the sparkling gem that is inlaid deep in the heart of it.
The first thing I felt was the warm rush of air that enveloped me in a kind welcome. The next was the smell of fresh cotton and wool. But when I opened my eyes I saw it.
Tall wooden shelves were overflowing with every color and texture imaginable. The vibrance seemed to reach out to me, to touch deep into my heart and leave vivid memories that I describe to you now. For hours, it seemed, all I could do was stand in the doorway and admire it all.
I came to my senses and approached the beautiful textiles. They may have been the softest thing I have ever touched in my life. Magnificent hats, scarves, and accessories were in the display windows, and I wished that day that I could have taken all of them home with me.
There was an entire section of the shop devoted to ombres. I watched with awe as the navy blues turned softly to deep purples and greens. My favorite was the wool that went from a cement gray to a light blue, for it looked like the ocean.
All of the beautiful weaving in the shop window’s reminded me of the things that we use to weave our life, loves, and hobbies. Some things that weave together my life and hold me together is flute, books, and family. But I realized that day that the things that weave our lives are just as vibrant as the threads in the store, and that they might even be brighter.