Rainbows and fleece.

The clocks went back an hour yesterday so night now falls with a great thump at about five in the evening. Time to close the curtains and keep warm. There might be frost on the roof in the mornings but our tomatoes are still ripening in the greenhouse. Feet have been finished and mitts have been made, a pair for Archie with less Frill than mine but the rest of the pattern stays the same.

It has been super rainy this weekend but the storm eased just enough to let this rainbow through, well worth getting soaked for.

I have almost finished spinning my first fleece, a gift from the lovely Julie and it is likely to turn into a cosy cardigan of immense proportion. One of my Spinning Guild gave me a Shetland fleece last weekend and on Thursday I met Kim who gave me two whole fleeces and a big bag full of mixed fibres. I'm not sure if spinners are an exceptionally generous lot or very clever people who want to lure us all over to the Distaff side. Either way, I have a lot of spinning to keep me company on the dark winter nights.

Season of mitts and mellow fruitfulness

Good things this week? Apple crumble shared with family. Mary Jane's Frill Mitts almost finished. Natural dye experiments with damsons, apples and nettles. And a touch of poetry.....

Ode to Autumn. John Keats.

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness! Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun; Conspiring with him how to load and bless With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves run; To bend with apples the mossed cottage-trees, And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core; To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells With a sweet kernel; to set budding more, And still more, later flowers for the bees, Until they think warm days will never cease, For Summer has o'erbrimmed their clammy cells. Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store? Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find Thee sitting careless on a granary floor, Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind; Or on a half-reaped furrow sound asleep, Drowsed with the fume of poppies, while thy hook Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers; And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep Steady thy laden head across a brook; Or by a cider-press, with patient look, Thou watchest the last oozings, hours by hours. Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they? Think not of them, thou hast thy music too, - While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue; Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn Among the river sallows, borne aloft Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies; And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn; Hedge-crickets sing, and now with treble soft The redbreast whistles from a garden-croft; And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.

The Princess and The Pea

Colin the joiner and his Dad are still here banging, sawing and generally making things beautiful. Sock 2 is finished and a new pair was started on Saturday in the esteemed company of Miss Frugality and Tattiebogle.

Magnus is making sure that nothing bad happens to the curtains while the windows are replaced. Either that or he is auditioning for the lead role in a fairy story.....

Socktoberfest's first sock.

Literally the first sock because I haven't knitted it's partner yet. I was talking to Sylvia the jeweller this morning and she has a problem with making earrings - once she has made one, it is very difficult to drum up the enthusiasm to make the matching other. Sounds a lot like Second Sock Syndrome to me.

Here's to the next pair of socks ..... .or at least a friend for this one