Little Magic: Snow drops & socks
Sock: a garment for the foot, typically knit from wool, cotton, or nylon
I can’t stop knitting socks. Before a few months ago, I had never successfully knit even one, and now I’ve made three-and-a-half pairs, and I’m starting to feel anxious, because I’m running out of yarn. They are so intensely satisfying to me at this transition, this moment we are in right now: two years into a pandemic, the seasons changing once again.
This time last year, I was about ready to burst with hope. My parents had decided to move closer, to be just an hour’s drive away, instead of an impossible-for-us plane ride. Vaccines were just starting to be distributed, and it seemed that the only impediments to the end of the coronavirus were logistical. I was ready — so ready — to emerge from my home and from full-time (make that full-full-full-time) parenting, from modified school schedules, from masks and curbside pick-ups and takeout. I was ready to return to writing. I was ready, like plants that stay dormant for the long winter months, to bloom.
But one year later, here we are again, navigating masks and rules, guidelines and quarantines.
This is why I knit socks. I need something predictable.
Socks are the same, every damn time. I start with the cuff. I knit two, purl one, until, to paraphrase Stephanie…
