I knit into these socks
the sound of clock ticking
the black- red setter snoring
the one-eyed cat hissing
the fridge humming
the light fading
the wind rustling
a phone alert or two
something spitting
on the stove
and outdoors
someone hammering
dropped stitch expletives
the smell of woodsmoke drifting
and maybe the tang of drizzle cake
from finger lemon licking
It's an intimate thing
this knitting
Copyright 2023 Cathy Leonard All rights reserved
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