I am bundled today for the first time is what feels like a long time. Outside the wind whips the trees into a frenzy, sending leaves into a dying dance of flaming colour. I wish I had checked the weather today. I would have brought my winter coat, or at least worn a better sweater. The seasons have been so odd the last few years that my childhood instincts are all wonky. I can't predict the seasons like I used to. I can still tell you if it is going to rain, or if there is a chance of snow. My mind drifts to thoughts of childhood. Sitting before the crackling fire watching the pine logs slowly succumb to the hunger of the flames. Running fingers along the perfectly shabby oriental rug, loving the richness of the red, counting the colours, tracing pattern. The cat would be curled into a perfect little ottoman, tucked as close as he could press himself against the screen that kept back some of the sparks. Sipping real cocoa made on the stove, from little mugs with dancing Peter Rabbit on them. The sounds of my brothers playing, the house creaking happily as it kept us al snug and warm.
I miss that snugness, the cozy home feeling of my youth. Adulthood has carried me far into the grey city. Full of imposing and harsh concrete, howling sirens and blaring horns. I miss the silence, the songs of the forest, and the ocean. My heart longs to settle there eventually. For now I am content to be where I am, sipping slowly the promise of the future with all of its lovely adventures.
So I knit a little, passing wooly yarn through my fingers, imbuing each and every stitch with a little but of myself, with a lot of love. I am drinking greedily this small lull in my hectic day, savoring the imagery for when I am stuck in a dark theatre with strained people working to make a play come to life.
