Cave-In

Respite from Fair Isle madness in the form of a string bag

Fair Isle knitting overdose. Result? Cast on for a string bag. Yes, I caved in. I am THIS close to finishing the blasted Malthese, but I just couldn't take it anymore (for a little while, at least). Zig is sorely in need of replacement grocery bags, and an entire box of cotton/linen yarn sits just behind the couch. As we left the house for a bike ride yesterday afternoon, I found myself grabbing yarn and needles to begin the "Clementine" bag (Clementine being a trendy name for pale orange). The base of the bag is almost complete.

Spring

By Edna St. Vincent Millay

To what purpose, April, do you return again?

Beauty is not enough.

You can no longer quiet me with the redness

Of little leaves opening stickily.

I know what I know.

The sun is hot on my neck as I observe

The spikes of the crocus.

The smell of the earth is good.

It is apparent that there is no death.

But what does that signify?

Not only under ground are the brains of men

Eaten by maggots.

Life in itself

Is nothing,

An empty cup, a flight of uncarpeted stairs.

It is not enough that yearly, down this hill,

April

Comes like an idiot, babbling and strewing flowers.