The world is both on pause and on hyperdrive. Yet, my fingers are stitching at their usual pace.
My knitting needles tick-tick-tick in rhythm as my hands move them through the dance of stitches that will become a sweater. Everything is different around me, but this is the same. These fingers. This wool. This movement.
I am watching the world through the window while I marinate in thought. Flowers are blooming. Trees are sporting their new leaves. Spring is springing and the lawn needs to be mowed. I can see it all from where I sit, knitting.
Things that grow keep growing. And so do I.
The world is on pause, but not the clock. The day marches forward. My age doesn’t pause, nor the number of days to this year or next. The calendar keeps turning pages; it waits for no one. The days keep going and I keep going, too.
I click the kettle on and pour another cup of tea. I connect with those I love in creative ways; I check on my friends.
Is everyone okay? Do you have what you need? Is there anything I can do?
And we’re all strong for each other, even though we’re scared.
I stitch my worry into wool because there’s nowhere else for it to go. I remember to take a deep breath. I remember to keep laughing and loving. I open that book I’ve been meaning to read.
I make a pot of soup in my favorite yellow pot, and I stop to watch the steam rise in tendrils.
I notice things I didn’t notice before. I read the message dangling from the end of my tea sachet: “Life is a flow of love; your participation is requested.” I am participating.
Maybe we are grieving? It feels like grief sometimes. Denial, anger, bartering, depression, acceptance. Everything is different now, and we are different too. Last week I was sad, but this week I am resolute and grateful. I know we’ll get through this, because that’s what we do.
Everything is different around me, but some things are the same: These fingers. This wool, and the tick-tick-tick of my needles as I knit on.
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