alastair macleod 
Threads 

‚“You see, ” said her mother, picking up another ball of wool, men think they are in charge but it is us women who weave the fabric of life just as I knit this yarn into a jumper so we spin the yarn into a bairn in our wombs. Then we spin the bairns into a family with threads you cannot see.”Helga wanted an explanation.” Threads of love” her mother said, “Threads of healing and care.”“When you were born we wrapped you in a worn piece of silk that came down from my mother. She said it was lucky, a piece of faerie dress she said.You know I kept a piece of the umbilical cord.”“What? gasped Helga at this sudden revelation.“My own mother kept hers, ” her mum continued. “It was believed that it was a sacred thing the thread between a mother and a child.”