From the deck of a seaside café in Acapulco, the horizon unfurled in a wash of citrus gold and coral fire. The waiter set down a glass—tequila, grenadine, orange juice—and for a moment I could not tell where the drink ended and the sky began. I sketched the colors into my journal, determined to capture them in wool. The locals say a Tequila Sunrise is best enjoyed at dawn, when the air is cool and dreams have not yet fled. I say it belongs also to our stitches—looping sunshine into shawls, socks, and secret treasures. Each skein carries with it the hush of morning and the promise of celebration.