I started reading Stephen Yafa’s book, Cotton, in bed this morning (wrapped in cotton sheets) and when I reached a part about the simple genius of the spindle, a tapered wooden stick that allows tangled cotton fuzz to be spun into thread, I was reminded of Sleeping Beauty, cursed to prick her finger on the spindle of a spinning wheel, and sleep for many years.
Cotton‘s not putting me to sleep, but the history of the stuff is certainly casting a spell on me, and I’m holed up here in my little Brooklyn castle as a result.
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