I forget how quick the light changes as soon as it’s decidedly fall. I’m taking note of the dirty hues for future color palettes and appreciating the unkept beauty and melancholy of the last roses. Still feeling a little of that unsettled creativity, not knowing what will be the next shift, getting comfortable sitting in the uncomfortable. There’s a dark wash of color on my hook, and moments when we’re desperately trying to hang on to the light, capturing the late blooms in crochet and making jewels with the lavender from grandmas garden. It’s October, it’s familiar.
That time we moved the bed and that night neither of us could sleep because we had a new side, and after midnight we flipped and tried sleeping at the foot of the bed and it still didn’t feel right, and the only good things that came out of it were you found your chess set, and I found where I put all the kitchen cotton, and the next day I made your sleepy face some coffee and a bedroom colored dishcloth, and yes I love you, but no, I still don’t want to play chess.
(P.S been trying every excuse to work these lovely cafe hooks, going back to my very beginnings of utility crochet 💕)