My knitting

When I rose yesterday, my hands did not feel like knitting the blue yarn.  It's as if all the things I find special about it, suddenly overwhelmed me.  I tried knitting a couple times but my heart wasn't in it.

Time to change projects.

I picked up my London Fog sweater and gave that a go.  Much better.  

Isn't that gorgeous?

It's starting to look like something.  A sweater I hope.  There are only a couple inches to go till the armhole split.  I love the rustic feel of the blue yarns but I also love the cozy soft of this yarn.  I am going to have to do some dishcloth knitting or weaving very shortly and I am looking forward to knitting with the cotton again.  I already have some linen ready to knit a summer top.  There aren't and yarns I don't like, corded fibres that I dont think about knitting with.  If I thought that Keith would put it up I would absolutely knit a fence.  If my hands could take it that is.  

I simply love the feel of string things running through my hands. It fills me and feeds my soul in ways that nothing else ever has.  Someone once said that they supposed it was a decent past time.  I remember how angry I felt that they would say that and think that.  I felt deeply insulted and indescribably hurt that what was like breathing to me was passed off as a 'past time'.    

My knitting is so much more.  The way an artist needs to paint or sculpt or make.  It's the way a musician has music spilling out of them even when music is the farthest thing from their minds.  It's the burning need to do whatever it is.   

I have to knit.  Even when I am not knitting it fills my head and soul.  It lives in every little corner of me, even the dark ones.  I wish I had found it sooner in my life, but I don't regret that I didn't.  I am just glad that I found it.