The Midday Bloom

Part III: Song and Spark continues in the clear light of morning. After the laughter of the market, the weaver wakes to sunlight pouring through her window — warming the room, the loom, and something long-sheltered within her.

Waiting on the sill is a new thread: Duskpetal Vein, violet-blue and cool as twilight, yet alive with hidden bloom. As she lifts it, the joy of the day before seems to hum inside the fiber itself. Laughter rises easily now, no longer strange in her throat.

In The Midday Bloom, joy takes on weight and courage. The weaving grows bolder, the colors catching fire under the sun. Outside, winter loosens its grip — snow melting from pine boughs, and beneath them, a spray of crimson berries, patient and bright after months of waiting.

Back at her loom, the weaver sees a new shape emerge in the cloth — a curve like a smile, a quiet blaze formed without her guiding hand. She understands then that joy is not denial of the cold, but the courage to be bright again while it still lingers.

Welcome to Day Sixteen — where light blooms at midday, and joy dares to show itself.