It was early last fall, at the Oregon Flock and Fiber Festival, when my friend Rose and I were talking to each other about how good we were not to have bought all the wonderful fibers and yarns and tools around us. I was sitting in my booth spinning. My booth backed to another one, where there were some sock yarns marked down and piled up. Of course, there are always more projects than you have hands for, and I looked away several times from a skein of self-patterning colors. It was a combination that kept catching my eye…
“Oohew,” said Rose, “Yes. Wild violets in the woods.”
So I was done then. The skein was, after all, marked down. Last of lot. Uneven, unmatched, one only. Wild violets.
“You were meant to have it,” said Rose.
It’s been all fall and winter, and there have been no wild violets in the woods. But this morning as I went out to feed, there they were, bunched together by the path. Wild violets.
Well, you can see I haven’t finished the socks yet. But maybe before the violets are finished, they will be, too.