UNDOER OF KNOTS

I like to see my mother’s fingers commanding slim batons of needles.

Colors chime in, ordered into cohesion by the grace of her hands.

Today I caught her undoing a tangle of ancient wool.

I watched her fingers loosen knots, persisting, pulling gently.

I’d have tossed the useless snarl away. I’d have bought a new skein.

But she was humming as she liberated the old muddle. She had time. She was already imagining what she’d make with it.

One of Mom’s designs