summer sunday nap knitting by the pond

a quiet meander

Ok — so it’s not the wettest pond ever

More….papery. With a little green woolliness here and there.

But try squinting. See how the letters are water lilies (non invasive I hope)?

And those loose strands of weft—

— they are rushes, reeds and grasses wafting in a breath of wind.

Isn’t it peaceful?

Beryl has made friends with the yard rabbits—or has come to some kind of understanding—and I decide to close my eyes. It’s nice to be exactly where I am—and especially delicious to be knitting again, hands automatically continuing of their own accord.¹ How long has it been since I took weaving breaks to knit?

OK, the bench under my butt is a little hard, but I’ve no impetus to get up to find a cushion—

—for a warm breeze is now tickling my cheek and the smell of the neighbor’s new mown yard wafts over the fence.

What is it—yarrow? dandelion? clover? Hard to tell but it is so redolent of summer it’s as though I am standing in it—can feel the texture of freshly shorn stems and leaves under my toes.

It is prickly but cool—pleasant underfoot—

—and while I thought I just wanted to sit it seems I’m meandering anyway (why not?), so stroll along until I come to a gate.

It’s hard to say if the corvids perched on top are guarding or welcoming—and truth to tell they don’t seem to know either²—

—but the gate is open and the Bewick’s wren in the serviceberry bush on the other side is filled with enthusiastic chatter, so I keep going.

The ground slopes slightly down here and the path, though still springy, is more moss than yarrow—which makes sense among the ferns on the edge of the pond. The pond! Duh.

The Frog on the dock doesn’t have clothes—and apparently I didn’t get dressed this morning (I could have sworn I did but…), so fit right in. And what is better than skinny dipping?

I plop myself on the edge and dunk my toes in the drink.

Definitely chilly this water—the temperature shifting from cool to icy as I swish my feet this way and that. Makes me think it is a spring fed pond—my favorite—which perhaps should have been obvious as there is no obvious inlet.

And despite the cold I stretch my feet a little further to see how deep it is.

Not very.

Definitely a real pond.

That’s a relief.

Not that being real is everything. But still. It’s nice to know.

The frog and I exchange names and pronouns (cuz it feels polite), and then sit quietly side by side. I can hear other frogs—peepers?

Ducks land with a splash (ungainly like me), They take off, and land again.

A newt, too, is basking.

And sitting here in calm camaraderie with the sun on my shoulders I feel apart of myself melting, just a bit— cold feet and all. It’s nice.

Except that even as I relax imaginary yarn slips through my fingers —and I’m suddenly swamped by a longing to be back at my loom.

I could weave these reeds, that wild rose, the swim I can’t quite bring myself to take (cuz cold and muck).

And occupied as I am by thoughts of text-iles, I don’t even notice how convenient it is that when I pull my feet from the water (scattering drops everywhere but the frog just laughs), a gauzy linen towel is right to hand, draped over a willow wand at the edge of the dock. (Wand. I could weave a wand).

Still, I guess I’m weaver enough (tapestry or otherwise), to note the towels’ texture (slightly dry, neither rough nor smooth), and material (fine two ply linen or hemp— some bast fiber anyway—maybe milkweed), and admire how light as it is even as it beautifully wicks the moisture from my skin.

I drape it back over the willow where the breeze will dry it in a moment, and start back up the hill—apologizing vaguely over my shoulder for the abrupt departure. I’m waved understandingly on my way.

Through the gate (crows still bickering), along the path (loam, yarrow and dandelion again), and back through the neighbors new mown yard (mostly clover), I find everything just as I left it.

Ahhhhhh.³

PS Oh — but wait— before I get throughly immersed— I want to let you know that, thrillingly, I’m on this week’s Long Thread podcast! It was a delight to have this meandery time with Anne Merrow, and I can’t thank her enough both for inviting me to do this and for editing my digressions so beautifully. You can get there at using the magical link above or on favorite podcast player.

1. I can only nap knit with stockinette —preferably in the round. Garter stitch works too but requires a little more attention at the beginning and endings of rows making it harder to drift quite so far. Anyone else do this?

2. Not unlike the vultures from the animated movie of The Jungle Book

3. A walk to the pond is utterly not what I expected to write about today— but what can a person do? Hopefully next week I will show you the more practical word weaving process pix I had planned to share…