Today, I sat down and knitted.
Today, the windows were open to a crisp and clear morning. My candle burned a coffee aroma into my house. I was trying to dissipate the smell of the trash I’d taken out. I wasn’t trying to make my home feel romantic and peaceful. That was a happy accident.
Usually, I read while I knit, unless I’m knitting lace. That requires full attention, so I don’t knit lace much.
Today, I worked on a wide, long cowl made in a simple stockinette stitch with wispy thread-like yarn. It is tedious, boring knitting: just how I like it. It lends itself to doing other things while I knit it. But today, I watched the colors of the thin thread-yarn shift and felt its cobwebby softness under my fingers. My cat found a comfy spot next to me and we listened to the sounds of our neighborhood together.
Today, I have a million things to do.
But for that moment, I just knitted. Knitted, and nothing else.