Joni Socks

One sock is a medallion. The other is everything that fell out of it.

• Three arrows crossed over a heart: drawn small inside a cream disc, right in the middle of a sunflower mandala
• A peace sign where a flower centre should be: on the other sock, gold, unexplained, left to speak for itself
• Feathers: banded tan and copper, spines picked out in rows of brown dots

The medallion sock, worked outward

Start at the cream disc in the middle, held inside a double brown ring: three fletched arrows cross over each other and a heart sits where they meet. Out from that, a ring of pointed gold petals. Out again, leaf-shaped petals in olive green with a drawn spine down each one. Out once more, petals in terracotta and dusty rose, each carrying a small brown flower. Down below the medallion a rust paisley and an amber leaf drift off on their own.

The feather sock

Its partner keeps the loose pieces. Feathers come down the leg at different angles, banded copper over tan, dotted along the spine. A gold sunflower opens around a peace sign. Amber leaves turn in the air about it, one more rust paisley, a scatter of brown dots. It reads less like a composition than like things laid out along a windowsill.

Both socks sit on cream, and the cream has a mandala worked into it a half tone deeper: henna-fine, across the entire leg and on down over the foot. Black at the toe and black at the heel; the cream and the pattern in it run on over the top of the cuff. The size list has one entry: women's. And a pair is printed only after somebody asks, and takes five to ten working days to make, so the design holds its place on the menu and what lands on your doormat was run for one pair of feet.