From the mossy hollow

As we descended towards the shortest day I could feel the need to turn within very strongly.  I kept coming back to the image of a mossy hollow. Tucked in the earth, at the roots of a bare tree, a space where I could curl up in to a ball and let the days pass. It sounded soft and comforting, but the slowing has been awkward, and though the body tells me what it needs, keeping the mind, and the world around me to the same pace is always the challenge. As my new knitting project grows, I see the browns and dark greens are like the manifestation of the hollow. Happily a softer, cosier representation. Knitting this wrap is a process that literally helps me create the space I craved. I have been falling home from work and into its embrace all week. The long rows create a rhythm that wasn't in my hands as they scurried at the socks. Warm and safe from epic rains and winds. The hollow is the dip my bum is making in the sofa cushions.

I thought I only started on the Orchard Grass Wrap over other patterns, like the Pay It Forward scarf, because I could wind frogged yarn easily into a ball (while my skein winding gear remains in hiding somewhere). Perhaps the knitting muse just knew it was exactly what I needed to be knitting.

I've been puzzling over why knitting and I had such a long hiatus in our towering romance. Looking over old projects. Opening bags and marvelling at why I stopped right there. Reading back over posts here and on Ravelry. Instead of answers I find only gratitude that the knit is back on.

My new read, pictured above, could literally have been written for me and there is a beautiful quote I keep coming back to:

"This is the nature of faith, of magic, of art, of a good life's work: If you ever understand perfectly what you're doing, you should stop right away."


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