Ohhhh look at these luscious gorgeous beauties!
Turquoise and purple, green and crimson, rich deep brown and heather blue. Raspberry and orange and cerulean. Such textures and smells! Wool and silk and bamboo and cotton.
When I was a neglected and abused little girl, color was an enormous sense of comfort for me. I drank it in. So was touch — leaves and bark and brick, clay and loam, hot concrete and cool soft grass.
Right now, knitting seems like the best gift a girl with PTSD could ever give herself.