Took myself off to the Knitting Cafe for an early morning hot chocolate and some writing time. Not my usual time for going there.
This was two days ago when I had decided to let a windsock happen and was being particularly attentive to the small voice within. The Knitting Cafe and not the Polish Deli was whispering. I was sitting and sipping on the outdoor patio and glanced across the street at the shop with its wares displayed on the sidewalk. A windsock was blowing in the breeze. Identical to the one fading and falling apart on my deck. Along with the whew and wow came the sensation of “of course”. Now, I did not purchase it. Again that small voice. I checked out the sources downtown. Nothing spoke. Braked suddenly and swerved into a parking spot as I was tootling along the Avenue to the library in Oak Bay Village at the sight of windsocks at a Science store. Interesting. Looked into books on windsocks in the library but none were available. Put a hold on one at another library. Last night the wind ripped my present windsock so that it is now in two pieces joined by perhaps the proverbial “single thread”. I could go back and see if that one is still available across from the Knitting Cafe. Meanwhile I got out the long colorful banner in the colors of the chakras that I knit ages ago and which has been rolled up in a basket. If I take it apart at two seams I will have three lengths that could be strung on a circle and hung as a windsock. And the thought of the windsock being knit in the round from jute but far from finished is in mind as well. I could focus on finishing it. A perusal of it last evening evoked my admiration. It is quite gorgeous in texture and hue and open stitch. Hmmmm. Journeys of self are far more cyclical than linear.