sometimes on a bitterly cold, blustery day in february, there can be something comforting about the rhythm of a hand craft.
counting, counting, counting, turn. circular, but going somewhere.
even in an unfamiliar material, making the directions up as you go along, there's a sense of control. a sense that you can, to some degree, dictate the outcome of the end product.
my job is only to not give up before it's finished.