Hope

Gentle rain fell during the night and early this morning. The moisture, although scant, is welcome. Out my window, a female cardinal tears small pieces of birch bark for her nest. I hope she is building near by. Even though we won't be standing on the pedestrian bridge with hundreds of other watchers, I know thousands of sandhill cranes feed and rest along the Platte River in a migration almost as old as time. In my mind, I hear their ancient music and my spirits lift.

Small buds are visible on the lilacs and the maples sport the red fringe of new leaves. Yesterday after my walk, I noticed these tulips in our front yard. Last summer we reworked this area, covering it with ground cloth and several inches of river rock. I thought the bulbs were a lost cause but somehow they found a way through the rocks. These are four tough tulips.

So ever hopeful, I knit on. Never in all my days have I been so happy to have a stash of yarn and a bookcase of books. I knit a tea cozy for my two-cup teapot and learned a new stitch, the mistake rib. I like the texture and wonder if it would make a good hat. I may try. I ripped out an Icicles hat that is knit from the top down. I set out to learn a new-to-me technique and learned I didn't like it one bit. I don't swatch for hats. I just knit the bottom edge and check the fit. Of course, this didn't work with top-down construction. I didn't discover it was too small until after I fiddled with the cast on and knit the increase rounds. Well, maybe I knew after a few rounds but ignored that wise knitting voice in my head. Anyway, I didn't want the hat enough to try again with other yarn and larger needles. 

The Soft Sunday Shawl is perfect knitting for listening to a mindless mystery. I cast on this pullover sweater three times. I blame the corona virus for a preoccupied mind. Now that I have finished the short rows and can see the lines of wide raglan shaping, it will be a good project for these indoor days. The yarn, needles, and pattern have a nice hand.

I am currently reading A Writer's Diary by Virginia Woolf. After her death, Woolf's husband culled through years of her diaries and published one volume of entries pertaining to her work. She is witty and this little volume is one view into her intelligent mind. It is easier reading than her fiction but tempts me to read some of her other work. I'm also enjoying Joy Harjo's American Sunrise. Our current poet laureate is deserving of her honor.

I will link this post to Kat and the Unravelers as a way to knit us together through these days.

To all the medical people on the front lines and the school personnel making sure kids have online learning opportunities thank you, thank you. To the grocery, big box, and drugstore clerks facing a never ending line of customers, garbage haulers on the road, first responders, and child care providers trying to keep children safe and sound, and many other helpers thank you, thank you.

While we put one foot in front of the other, may we be as tough and tender as tulips.