Wool Gathering....

 Finally, I’ve reached the part of my roster I truly love—three uninterrupted days off. Well, that’s the plan. The phone is back on silent, and I’m hoping for no unexpected calls or errands.

Today began slowly, just the way I like it. Chores first, then a quiet sit-down with my knitting. I’ve cast on my first raspberry sock, and I’m giving those trio-style needles a proper trial. So far, I think I’m making good progress.

The yarn is a delight—shifting shades of purple and pink that bloom from ball to fabric, like a quiet sunrise stitched into each row. As I knit, it surprises me. In the ball, the colours nestle like petals—raspberry, blush, and a good dash of cream. But once knit, they don’t stripe or ripple. Instead, they soften and blur, creating a gentle marled texture—like watercolour on wool.

The cream that was so evident in the ball is now knitted and stirred into the stitches—no longer a bold presence, but a quiet breath beneath the pinks and purples. It’s softened into suggestion, letting the berry tones take the lead.

The trio needles are taking a little getting used to. I’m not sure yet if I’m more or less comfortable with these than the traditional DPNs. The rhythm is different—less clatter, more flex—but my hands haven’t quite decided if they like the change. I’ll persevere and see how things go. For now, the stitches are behaving, and the sock is growing. That’s enough.

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Progress is also being made on the mohair sweater. It’s slow going—just a row or two here and there—but that’s okay. I’m not in a hurry. The yarn is light, the stitches are airy, and the pace suits me.

I have to say, the swap from 6.5 mm sweater needles to 2.5 mm sock needles is a leap. The mohair needles felt chunky, almost clumsy—like holding garden stakes. These sock needles are fine, precise, almost dainty. My fingers have to recalibrate, relearn the rhythm. But there’s something comforting in that shift. The smaller needles nestle into my hands differently, asking for a gentler touch. It’s a quieter kind of knitting, and I’m finding my way

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In my last post, I hinted that I might have been shopping—for sock yarn, of course. And now, the evidence is here. No pinks or purples this time—just a bold, beautiful mix of mossy greens, stormy blues, chalky greys, and even a dash of sunset orange. Each skein feels like a story waiting to be told.

There’s Opal’s forest-toned celebration yarn, with its misty blues and glacier whites—like a walk through alpine shadows. Then there’s the holiday skein, bursting with cheerful greens and reds, like a sock-sized postcard from somewhere warm and festive. 

               

The Mandala wool leans into teal and maroon, deep and moody like a twilight tidepool. 

    

                  

And that Chalkhill Blue from West Yorkshire Spinners? It’s a butterfly wing in yarn form—delicate, dappled, and quietly wild.

I’m not sure which one I’ll cast on next. For now, they’re nestled beside the couch, waiting patiently. Like ingredients in a well-stocked pantry, they’ll reveal their true personalities when the time is right.

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Twice recently, I’ve been gifted bags of yarn—some full balls, some curious little ends, each one a mystery in colour and ply.  I feel so lucky, so quietly blessed to receive these leftovers. There’s something generous and hopeful in yarn passed from one maker to another. They’ve all been added to the stash, tucked in beside the other odds and ends, waiting patiently for their turn. I suspect a scrappy crochet project is brewing somewhere in the background. It’s not planned yet, but the yarn knows. It always does.

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It’s fair to say I’ve been bitten by the knitting bug. The sock yarn stash has grown, the needles are in rotation, and my hands seem to know what they want—at least for now. But crafting, for me, has always been a cycle. I’ve shifted from patchwork to crochet, wandered through EPP and cross stitch, and now I’m deep in knitting again. Round and round it goes, each phase bringing its own rhythm and comfort. I wonder where the next change will take me?

Do your crafting moods change too? Do you find yourself drawn to different fibres, colours, or tools depending on the season—or the week? I’d love to hear what’s on your needles, or what’s waiting patiently in your stash for its turn.