MG: simple answers

didn't realize Cookie was a logophile until she announced this contest. should have had an inkling; the name Pomatomus betrays logoleptic tendencies. i submit my entry in word-love solidarity, and as perquisite, am free to indulge in Romantic wordsmithing and to flirt with loquacious prattle of the knitting sort.

i also needed a little push--ok, a shove--to end this abeyance of knitting and knitblogging. it's been languorous travel and opaque stresses, but also more. my knitting had assumed a barren pallor since late spring, growing nearly despondent in the last few weeks. my frenetic searches for the spark, the project to resume fecund ardor to the needles have been feckless.

don't know if it's the meager stash of a impecunious grad student. don't know if it's the appeal of warm ovine fluff over that of summery cellulose. don't know if the lacuna fosters lethargy and doubt in one's ability to knit with consequence; if the stretching emptiness edges one to look farther into the horizon--dreams of a colorful, erudite, extraordinary knit of triumph as an answer. but i could not find foothold until a few days ago.


in the end it was simple: a boggy (brown mud in some lights; green mud in others) tweed from my stash, miles of stocking stitch made sweet by the reading of Murdoch's An Unofficial Rose while my fingers worked its tactile work. repetitions of a single seemingly arbitrary motion that somehow accumulates complex shapes to drape my form. pleasure of "knitting around"--to usurp the phrase of the knitter i most like whispering in my ear. i had forgotten to dream the dream at hand.