Wandering the winter roads,
I found a few soft balls of wool—
left behind by someone
in the bitter cold of last year.

I brought them home
and tucked them into
the torn blanket
that mother wrapped herself in—
hoping maybe,
just maybe,
the holes would fill on their own.

That I wouldn't have to hear
her bones shiver through the night,
or watch her lips
tighten against the cold
like a locked door.

Truly—
the next morning,
the holes were gone.
Not just in the blanket...
but in mine too.

For the first time,
a smile rose on her lips
and stretched
all the way
to her ears—
and stayed there.

It didn’t fade
like the others.
It lingered—
because she did not.

Her body jolted once,
a crack—
like twigs breaking under frost.
There was a sound,
half curse, half sigh—
as if her bones
had given their final reply
to the cold.

Yes,
that wool was magical.

It didn’t just take away the winter.
It took her too—
gave her freedom
from the tremble
I tried so hard to mend.