I dive towards the white, straight and narrow, steely and determined. As I get closer, details resolve; lines of colour grow huge and then vanish, replaced the pure white that is my target. Closer still and now I can see the warp and weft of what is in front of me. Tightly packed white threads lie side by side, eight running from left to right, twelve running up and down. Another few moments in my plunge, and I am there, nuzzling them aside with my nose, making space to squeeze between them.
There is no resistance to my passage, and I surge through the threads, emerging glorious and triumphant into the void beyond. I continue to plunge, onwards into the dark, until I am brought up short by my tail, a streak of brilliant red behind me.
I pause, turn, and set my sights again on the white now in front of me, aiming just to the left of where I’ve come from. Then I’m off once more, plunging towards the white, determined to finish the stitch.