In a quiet Japanese garden, the trees glowed with fire—leaves of deep burgundy and gold drifting slowly onto stone paths. The air was crisp, filled with the scent of autumn and stillness. I pressed one of the leaves into my journal, determined to capture its fleeting color before it turned to dust. Later, by the dye pots, the memory returned: a symphony of burgundy, rose, and golden amber. Thus, Japanese Maple was born—a skein that carries autumn’s brilliance, ready to be stitched into warmth.