soft and strange

i try to not visit yarn stores. i seem to collect single skeins of lovely spun cotton, wool, and silk. which means i never seem to knit outside of the occasional scarf, there being only one ball of yarn; great for christmas time, not so much for when you see a scrumptious cardigan or a delectable pillow. i'd love to knit a tea cozy, but have yet to find a teapot with which to grace one. so, with some reticence i entered the doors of a local yarn store, wild fibre, and found myself not five minutes later walking towards the register with a ball of something soft, something colorful, and something i haven't a clue what to do with.

this is the something of which i speak.
if i were to spin it, what would happen to the delicate rivers of color? what would transpire if one were to felt with such insubstantial fluffiness? alas, i feel this one ball of silkworm essence will stay in its current form. to be admired with the eyes and patted from time to time to regal in the magic of touch.