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The icky hot and humid days of summer have finally hit. There’s something… uncomforting in the sticky thick stagnant air that leaves my lungs begging for deep draws of oxygen. But with the sensation of breathing underwater, there’s always the prospect that a summer storm is just around the corner. And today, I was not disappointed. It appears with little warning, asserts itself with the wrath that only Mother Nature can, and then leaves everything refreshed. Cooler. Less humid. Greener. And green truly is the color of summer here.
In the last two days, I’ve burrowed myself into the activities that are regular for me. But they’ve been more a passing of the time rather than passions that I know they truly are. The needles click softly. The fiber winds through my fingers onto short and smooth sticks. Music drones in the background. My feet mechanically shift up and down on the treadle. Progress is made. But I barely notice. I understood this tonight when I looked down at the glove I’m knitting and realized that I have no recollection of knitting the last 6 inches of it. Time passes. Sometimes we notice.
But I see now that the glove is coming along nicely.
It’s an elbow-length fingerless glove. And the lace edging is romantic and lovely.
And it will look better once blocked, of course. But the color of the yarn is a strange mixture of the romantic nature of the long gloves mixed with just a hint of sinister. I’m happy with them so far. They remind me of Alice Cullen. So, they are Alice’s gloves.
