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As I think of love, I remember my mother sitting in the courtyard of our house with a tangled ball of wool, reeling it around her knees, patiently detangling it. Love for me has always been like that tangled ball of wool waiting to be detangled.Similarly we all have some unusual and abrupt ways we remember love as. The unusual ways in which we claim love and make it our own.This book has been weaved from those familiar kind of memories and with sincere hope to share the same joy and warmth I felt while writing it. Allow it to hold your hand and walk you through the Autumn and Spring of love.
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