On the curriculum

Lime tree seeds

First falling plum tree leaves

Lime leaf turned golden

Aestlight in Warm Pixie

Autumnal flourishes everywhere I look and I want to really dig in and notice the order and the pace with which the season arrives this year. It seemed to hasten in during August with heavy clusters of berries and more falling seeds than I associate with that month, perhaps the chill in the air made them seem more significant. Not much chill so far this month except for the slight edge morning and evening, a pleasing stroke of coolness that reminds me that wool really is rather lovable.

Stalled on another Aestlight, though past the lace and it's a simple garter border that is giving me pause. A question about which course of action to take, to rip back to fix a discrepancy in numbers or knitting a few stitches together and carrying on. This is one of those grey areas for me. I am not a knitter who has to know it is perfect to enjoy wearing a knit, nor yet one who bashes through all but the most terminal of 'adjustments'.

 I can sometimes enjoy a knit all the more for its vagaries, if it reminds me of a moment of its creation or just that perfection is not a standard that means happiness in life. Sometimes though it's deeply pleasing to have everything in order in at least the knitting. Ripping back and reknitting this won't take more than an hour I would guess which given it should last for years seems not much of an investment.

Though honestly will I ever notice or remember whichever option I take? This September will have other stand outs in the memory banks: a family wedding, the start of a new job,  a weekend away in Glastonbury. Without this blog acting as a flower press this moment of consideration would be just one of the many tiny decisions which flow through my life almost unheeded. I sometimes think I am decisive, big decisions seem to be made without too much agony. I sometimes think I am so indecisive, small decisions seem to take remarkable consideration.

Perhaps that is why I love these betwixt and between days so much, perhaps they are me more than I realise.


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