All is on the wane here; the long grass falls dry and soft yellow, sunlight is dimmed in the morning, the wind is colder. At the same time the bramble berries are bursting with plump ripeness and the Rowan berries shine red in the twilight as crows squawk in delight at them.
We fall into a dreamy slumber cosseted by Inner Wild hand knitted patchwork blankets. Individual patches of Donegal tweed wool, wool and silk and sequins Uist Wool and Harris wool, wool from Australia and even cotton from India: what beauty there is in diversity coming together.
Underfoot as we walk, leaves crackle, we see spiders web dewy on bare branches, Borage drops her hardy seeds over days from bountiful flowers making sure the bees have her flower nectar again next year. Promises of a future more abundant than this one, ever-expanding and growing.
But today we appreciate the warmth of spiced pumpkin colour and the rich texture of cables and hand knitted bobbles on a sweater hand knitted with love to keep a child warm.
And so as blue skies turn opaque we nestle in the mellowness of muted greens and yellow. Happy Autumn.
BEFORE I love winding skeins into balls around my hand. This is Malabrigo Arroyo in Pocion being every shade of beautiful on my Lykke Driftwood needles. A few years ago a dearheart called Laurie in the US asked via the Inner Wild Etsy shop if I might make her a knitted skirt. Laurie loved Ancestors …
Hello Autumn you beautiful harvest season of misty mornings, long nights and mellow fruitfulness. We surrender to crisp leaves crackling underfoot, the zing of cold air sharp in our lungs and the soothing, cosseting bliss of wrapping ourselves in layers upon layers of natural, hand knitted wool, silk, cashmere, alpaca . . .
Deer rush down from the mountains of Harris and the broad swathes of moorland drawn by the fresh, new growth of grass to soar over fences. And so it is with us humans. Deep inside we run with the deer; we too feel the machair sap rising and in the rhythm of the tide, the …
Autumn: grasses fall, we slumber, cosy
All is on the wane here; the long grass falls dry and soft yellow, sunlight is dimmed in the morning, the wind is colder. At the same time the bramble berries are bursting with plump ripeness and the Rowan berries shine red in the twilight as crows squawk in delight at them.
We fall into a dreamy slumber cosseted by Inner Wild hand knitted patchwork blankets. Individual patches of Donegal tweed wool, wool and silk and sequins Uist Wool and Harris wool, wool from Australia and even cotton from India: what beauty there is in diversity coming together.
Underfoot as we walk, leaves crackle, we see spiders web dewy on bare branches, Borage drops her hardy seeds over days from bountiful flowers making sure the bees have her flower nectar again next year. Promises of a future more abundant than this one, ever-expanding and growing.
But today we appreciate the warmth of spiced pumpkin colour and the rich texture of cables and hand knitted bobbles on a sweater hand knitted with love to keep a child warm.
And so as blue skies turn opaque we nestle in the mellowness of muted greens and yellow. Happy Autumn.
Related Posts
Metamorphosis: Ancestors Skirt
BEFORE I love winding skeins into balls around my hand. This is Malabrigo Arroyo in Pocion being every shade of beautiful on my Lykke Driftwood needles. A few years ago a dearheart called Laurie in the US asked via the Inner Wild Etsy shop if I might make her a knitted skirt. Laurie loved Ancestors …
Autumn feelings
Hello Autumn you beautiful harvest season of misty mornings, long nights and mellow fruitfulness. We surrender to crisp leaves crackling underfoot, the zing of cold air sharp in our lungs and the soothing, cosseting bliss of wrapping ourselves in layers upon layers of natural, hand knitted wool, silk, cashmere, alpaca . . .
Inspiration: running with the deer
Deer rush down from the mountains of Harris and the broad swathes of moorland drawn by the fresh, new growth of grass to soar over fences. And so it is with us humans. Deep inside we run with the deer; we too feel the machair sap rising and in the rhythm of the tide, the …