Spinning transforms angel-fine hairs, each so fragile, into a strand, then into a yarn.

The wheel has an orifice, which is a hole through which the twist travels, from the whirring rotating machine, up the twisted strand, into the fluffy roving. There’s a driving force, and a travelling twist.

This twist it enters the fibres, locks them together into a strand with enough tensile strength to hold together as one.

This single, or single-ply yarn has enough strength to be useful. But I’ll spin another single, and then twist them together, plying them, each twisting round the other, to form a two-ply yarn, which is even stronger, more balanced and complex.

Then I’ll make tiny stitch after tiny stitch, a hundred or more.

And I’ll repeat the motion, stacking up tiny row after tiny row of these little loops.

Hours, days, weeks until I end up with a slightly-misshapen sweater.

And sighing with joy, I’ll begin again.