set the scenes

onward, but slowly
An astrologer friend once advised me "show up at your desk at the same time every day and the Muse will find you". That's what I'm planning this month - a retreat at home in as much solitude as I can muster while living with someone else. I'll follow my own schedule with no compromise - which could mean working through the night or before dawn. The weather remains bright and sunny with temps near 50. This adds an obligatory cheerfulness that feels quite nice. I could almost start thinking about spring. But that would be very foolish.

and over the pond
I know I'm  late in directing my attention to world news, but I read something even more cheerful than nice weather. Ireland's new president Michael D. Higgins is a poet, writer, academic, statesman, human rights advocate, and champion of creativity within Irish society. He said, "I will be inviting all citizens, of all ages, to make their own imaginative and practical contribution to the shaping of our shared future". Wow! Imagine what the world would be like if all leaders said that (and meant it). Maybe it should be a requirement for political office. lol.
   
moorings
After that bit about Ireland and a letter from my friend wintering in Cornwall, battling heavy winds and her manuscript, I started thinking about the UK in general. I've only been to London so far, but want the rest: Wales (Dylan Thomas), Ireland, Scotland, the Hebrides (and Alice Starmore). Alert now, I pull out the 1997 edition of Aran Knitting. Starmore's book is filled with photos of gorgeous red-haired models with green eyes wearing cabled sweaters amidst Scenery. The first 44 pages cover history, myths, the Outer Hebrides. Those pages never fail to transport me into Cable Sweaterland where I haven't landed in years. The last time (2004) led to a rare perfect cardigan (dark purple, not denim) and an essay that appeared in KnitLit the third (Three Rivers Press, NY, 2005).

As I walked the park contemplating a new thick creamy sweater for a chilly beach, patterns and temptation rose before me like shimmering wraiths. But before heading out to a yarn shop, I'll finish the Kokopelli jacket (it's coming along fast) - honest I will.

...we have a popular imagination that is fiery and magnificent, and tender; so that those of us who wish to write start with a chance that is not given to writers in places where the springtime of the local life has been forgotten, and the harvest is a memory only, and the straw has been turned into bricks.
J.M. Synge (January, 1907)