A Measure of Raffia

Stepping past the freesia buckets toward the wrapping counter, a spool of dried natural raffia was unravelling in careless spirals across the zinc tabletop. Allowing fibrous trim to sprawl in such limp chaos is entirely unprofessional. I set the staff of my oversized brush upright against a glass water carafe to keep my footing steady, then leaned across the cool metal. Catching the rough grassy strand between my palms, I pulled the slack taut until it hummed slightly, wrapping three measured turns back around the cardboard core. With a firm tuck of my thumb, I slotted the loose frayed tip cleanly into the core's side notch. It now rests in a neat, disciplined cylinder beside a pair of heavy iron florist snips. Order in a working atelier is non-negotiable.