Somewhere beyond the horizon, the stars forge patterns not unlike the ones on grandmothers' blankets. A universe stitched together, threads of light woven through the dark fabric of night. When you look closely, you see it—a plaid of celestial wonders.

Perhaps we are all wanderers, glancing up at the sky, trying to read the patterns our ancestors once crafted from memory. Celestial plaid—an echo of fabric, an echo of time, an echo of us.