I know, I know – it’s amateur hour for this new crocheter. But I turn to my crochet needle and yarn to drown so very many struggles.
There is so much I cannot control. But I can control this needle.
Do you see it, can you feel it – the anxiety and the grief woven into the stitches? Every stitch carries the burdens of forgetting. Every chain is an irregular heartbeat. The double crochet, the half double crochet, patterns and rhythms of separation and displacement. I plunge into the new quest of the linen stitch because so many of my journeys seem to be endless, never arriving at my refuge; this quest will go somewhere. Somewhere imperfect, but something I can get my hands and fingers around.