Thursday, March 8, 2012

Moonlight scarf

 

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One summer night, when I was young, a boy came to my door and asked me to go for a walk with him, and we walked for miles and miles together down the moonlit country roads, holding hands and falling in love along the way.  For some reason, I thought of that night as I made this scarf, and how I wore a gauzy white dress that glowed in the dark, and how as the night got chilly, his hand in mine was so warm.

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This little scarf makes me think, too, of outdoor concerts in August.   I want to kick off my sandals and lie on a quilt in the warm darkness, looking at the stars and listening to Judy Collins play her guitar.  (I did this once.  It was holy.) 

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The pattern is my own, devised as an experiment.  I worked on this every day for a week, and got as far as the very last repeat on the edging—two inches from the finish line, friends, with ten minutes of knitting remaining—and ran out of yarn.  I meant to take a picture of that, the urgent scarf with its ten remaining stitches and the sad, frayed length of yarn that was left, but I was crumpled by it, and also it was eleven o’clock at night.  Which is not too late an hour to quickly order more yarn--a crusher, since I only needed about another five yards, but it must be done, and when it arrived yesterday, I sat down for half a second and finished the edging. 

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Then I soaked it in the sink and pinned it out to dry overnight.  That wishbone shape is the result of my experiment—I wanted to know what would happen if I increased at both ends of every row, instead of just every right side row, and now I know.   It makes a wishbone shape.  Not unlovely; a little bit interesting. 

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Perfect for summer, which really will be here soon.  Maybe we’ll go for a walk.