I followed a stone path through the Irish countryside, where the air was sweet with dew and wild herbs. The fields stretched in endless green, dotted with wildflowers and kissed by shafts of gold as the clouds parted. I took a lock of that light and wrapped it in yarn, carrying the memory of that morning into every skein. Irish Spring is the freshness of new beginnings—the scent of rain, the whisper of hills, and the promise of bright stitches ahead.