A weaver's hands move along the loom, steady with years of practice, guiding threads that have just become cloth. The fabric spills forward in soft folds of green and cream, its striped pattern still catching loose fringe at the edge — proof that moments ago this was only warp and weft, tension and thread.

There's a quiet rhythm to hand-weaving that no machine replicates: each pass of the shuttle answered by a small adjustment of the fingers, checking the weave stays even, that the stripes fall true.