It is raining today, and chilly. It occurs to me that it is not yet summer; that spring is a season too, and May is still spring, so I'm not sure why I keep expecting hot weather to show up. It might not, just yet. It might rain for awhile, and be cool and murky, and all the buds might just continue to hover on the verge, full to bursting, on pause, greens glowing like neon against the churned up sky. I am enjoying the seasons as they come, and this damp, gray weather is perfect for enjoying my finished Lala's Simple Shawl in Seidenstrasse fingering weight, color something like antique rose velvet. Blush. Soft. Blossom-y.
In still more seasonal knitting, in progress is a Boneyard Shawl in Malabrigo Rios, and they're calling this color "Niebla" which I think means "That color the sky turns right before a huge thunderstorm knocks out your power". Mixed dirty grays, shot through with streaks of ochre. Ominous, luminous, slightly sinister. Malabrigo is such a glorious feast.
And I'm determined with this pattern. All eighty-jillion of you can't be wrong. I'm cutting into this piece of [thrifted] chambray something or other, and I think it's going to work out. I believe.
Tea, knitting, sewing, black and white inspiration. Possibly a nap. Continuous drizzle pattering against the windowpanes. Is that the perfect day, or what?