I’m knitting something new, it feels good. The new ball of yarn unraveling like time but I’ve still got plenty left. There’s potential in this dark teal wool and satisfaction when I decide the way I want to weave it. I make mistakes, I change them to become part of the pattern. The stitches are like a song in my head, I sing them, I tap them out with my foot and whistle along to the tune I’ve made up. I thought it might be a hat when I saw the skein but now I know it will be an infinity scarf. My six inches of beaded rib is a metaphor for my worries. Working my hands intricately help me forget them. I have time.