Reflections on a Vocational Happenstance
Some days the weather sets the tone and won't be questioned.
Wet March snow is falling now, straight and softly down. I see out my window this winter melting into spring, and feel this earth moving in cycles large and small, regardless.
Here then is this quiet poem as I take up my knitting,
envisioning Emily Dickinson doing the same. Choosing colors, casting on. Cochineal and Dusker.
Her poem is like the snow - or Autumn leaves - falling calm on a windless day.
Autumn—overlooked my Knitting--
Dyes—said He—have I--
Could disparage a Flamingo--
Show Me them—said I--
Cochineal—I chose—for deeming
It resemble Thee--
And the little Border—Dusker--
For resembling Me—