When I Knit For YouWhen I knit for you, I meander the aisles, caressing and squeezing each and every bundle. I carefully select the perfect one and press it lightly against my cheek, ensuring that it will be soft enough for yours.
I see all of your colors, from the scarlet of passion, and the periwinkle of abandonment to the ocean of calm and the fog of sadness.
I explore the knit-osphere, seeking lace and cables, stockinette and ribs.
I untangle and wind, then plot and chart and track and count.
I settle in and settle down in my easiest of chairs, my legs tucked up and under.
I cast out old worries, hypnotized by the rhythm of clicking sticks.
I drop one and miss two. I curse and snarl, tink and rip out before I stubbornly begin all over again.
I fondly remember our time. I think of you when you were young and when you are now and hope for your tomorrows. I wonder if you will remember me.
I soak my pride. I fuss and straighten, pinning my hopes of perfection.
I unabashedly stand back and admire my craftiness.
When I knit for you, fluffy thoughts of your being feather the nest of my daydreams. I imagine you smiling, wrapped in loving warmth.