She held the slippy thin rope in one hand, her right hand. She held the smooth stick in her left. A quick loop around the right index finger, and soon there was a stitch on one needle. It was loose and new and unsteady, but another stitch anchored it, and another stitch anchored that. Stitch by stitch, row by row, the knitting grew. She had no pattern in mind, and no head-image of how this would turn out. The yarn was blue, and she wanted something blue, and it felt nice. There was silk in it, she thought, and she looked at the thick thread of it again to think on it. Yes, there was a definite sheen. It could be acrylic - oil was shiny, wasn't it? Around the needle again with the yarn, click, up, and off. It was either a silky shine or an oily sheen then, wrapped around a core of sheep-hair. What a strange combination. It was just a ball of wool. In, around, click, up and off. In, around, click, up and off. Bamboo needles were light, and she watched them move, thinking of panda bears in China and of those squat little bamboo plants you could buy in the home furnishing shops. She had bought one once but it had died - apparently you need to water them a lot. Had she forgotten to water it? Why don't knitting needles need watering? Because they're not alive! she laughed inside. They're dead. Dead like the silkworms who spun this silk (if it was silk), dead like the millions of live things that decomposed to make the oil (if it was acrylic), dead like the hair that had been shorn from the sheep's back. In, around, off. This pretty blue thing wasn't dead. It was alive with colour and just full of possibility. What could she make? Maybe a swatch would do for now.
The sun flew in the window while she worked. Blue wasn't a particularly autumny colour, but it was autumny in the outside world. Leaves were falling and icy winds were starting to cut through the patches of sunlight. Blue was an all-year colour, she decided, being the colour of the sky and of water, two things that were always there. She looked at the sky and saw clouds slowly rolling over the world. Why couldn't clouds be spun? Imagine she took her spindle in hand and reached up, up, UP, and brought down a pinch of fluff to pull and draft and twist. What kind of fabric would that make? She thought it would be a cold fabric, and she shuddered as she imagined pulling a cardigan made of thinly-spun and densely-knit ice around her shoulders.
The swatch had grown during her daydreaming. Now it was a rectangle of nobbled garter stitch. She put it down and picked up her tea and looked at it. The primary colour and the rounded stitch bumps made it look almost childish. But it wasn't immature - it was ready. She measured it carefully and noted the results down in her notebook. She added the weight of yarn, size of needles used, and some observations on how it had felt to work with. She used a pin to fasten it to the opposite page and closed the book. The experimenting over, the data gathered, the designing could begin.
The sun flew in the window while she worked. Blue wasn't a particularly autumny colour, but it was autumny in the outside world. Leaves were falling and icy winds were starting to cut through the patches of sunlight. Blue was an all-year colour, she decided, being the colour of the sky and of water, two things that were always there. She looked at the sky and saw clouds slowly rolling over the world. Why couldn't clouds be spun? Imagine she took her spindle in hand and reached up, up, UP, and brought down a pinch of fluff to pull and draft and twist. What kind of fabric would that make? She thought it would be a cold fabric, and she shuddered as she imagined pulling a cardigan made of thinly-spun and densely-knit ice around her shoulders.
The swatch had grown during her daydreaming. Now it was a rectangle of nobbled garter stitch. She put it down and picked up her tea and looked at it. The primary colour and the rounded stitch bumps made it look almost childish. But it wasn't immature - it was ready. She measured it carefully and noted the results down in her notebook. She added the weight of yarn, size of needles used, and some observations on how it had felt to work with. She used a pin to fasten it to the opposite page and closed the book. The experimenting over, the data gathered, the designing could begin.
