Evening. The moon rises above the hills and a bird cries gull-like outside my window. A long hush follows which could be frightening if I let my imagination run free. I glance at my compass on the dresser next to where I sit knitting. I bought the compass years ago after a series of events imploded everything I'd valued. It goes everywhere I go, a reminder to stay true to my course.
Knit a row, purl a row. Do it again. The outside world is slipping away one thin layer at a time, like the peel of onion skin.
The refrigerator cycles on and startles me.
I love the idea that you carry the compass with you wherever you go. It sounds like your talisman.
ReplyDeleteThank you for taking us along on your journey.
Helen
Straight From Hel
The symbolism of your compass is so like you, but (maybe because you carry it) I can't think of anyone more likely to find her way than you. Loving every minute of your journeys.
ReplyDeleteAs you write, I learn more about you than I do your Sabatical. Makes the read intriguing, twice as interesting. Waiting for more.
ReplyDeleteAny journey you take, Karen, is one I want to accompany you on! You are forging a path for all of us!
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