It occurred to me late one night that there was some kind of poetry in making irregular stripes. There is a hated joy in attempting to create randomness. Unfortunately - words are not something I am especially skilled at. Communication is not really a strong point of mine, and eloquence is a spectacular weakness. For one thing I can't even spell it. I used spell check.
Tory however. Tory does do words. Tory does eloquence. So I asked her to do the poetry thing.
Just like before,
one stripe repeats another--
a way of ordering the world
to keep close.
One stripe repeats another
an echo, a pattern, reminding its fellows
to keep close,
though one tries to place them at random.
An echo, a pattern, fellows reminding
each to each, "Yes--still here."
Though one tries to place them at random,
they will return.
Stripes are a friendly proposition,
a way of ordering the world.
Though placed at random, they still will return
just like before.
The irregular stripes, btw, are for a jumper I'm making my Dad. One week in I have the back, and have cast on for the front. And remembered why I only make one jumper per year for Christmas.