It's spring in Michigan, or so it seems, bit by bit, as if to tease us. We have giant crocuses in the side yarn, their non-hybridized relatives in the front yarn -- gorgeous lavenders, whites, yellows -- with their welcoming and welcome green shoots. How trusting! Can instinctive behavior ever be anything but completely trusting? The assumption, of course, deep down in the gene pool, has to be that everything will come out as it's supposed to come out, that progress toward new seasons will be steady and certain. It was modernity perhaps, and the hard knocks of human experience, that stripped us of that instinct, at least for the most part.
The lake right now is huge, bigger than usual visually, I suppose because of all of the liberated water churning around, the grey sky merging with it, covering it over, like some kind of overlord. I wonder if waves have always been these colors and I just haven't seen them? For the past two days, it has seemed to me that the water is almost not blue at all, except in the far distance. Up close, it's cream, white, dove gray, slate gray, sage green -- and I am thinking yarn, of course -- what a truly amazing colorway that would be. When summer comes, I'm going to try my hand at dyeing again, and I just might work up some sock skeins and call them Wave.
More later. Papers to grade.