I sit in this soft comfy chair tonight, turning this Noro sock yarn over and over in my hands. It has a waxy hand to it. A bit akin to linen. The colors are spectacular. (Eisaku, you're the man) What's to become of this skein? I don't make socks. I don't knit lace. We know this. But something must happen soon with it...or it may get up in the night and steal away...
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