Lately I've caught a blue bug. Shortly before we left for Iceland, I went out to a Hazel Knits trunk show with a friend, and ended up buying two very different skeins of Artisan Sock. There were lots of other colors that were beautiful, and perhaps more representative of what I wear in everyday life, but for some reason a light blue and a cherry-blossom pink streaked with grey were the colors that sang to me that day.
The pink was no surprise - I have a well-documented obsession with pinks, particularly warm, floral pinks - but the light blue came out of left field. My friend and I proceeded to happily discuss the merits of light blue. And ever since, I have been much more aware of blues; where before, I might pass over a sky in favor of a berry, now I am finding myself attracted to the quiet beauty of blues - the color of the inside of a glacier, the sky in Reykjavík at dawn, a cat's eye.
And in general, I am feeling this dichotomy of things: pink is my comfort, my tried-and-true, my beloved. Blue is a new friend, a hobby that I've just started practicing. Pink is knitting with my friends in Issaquah. Blue is learning to tailor a pocket, or drafting my first circle skirt. Both are equally pleasant, but blue has a hint of excitement and anxiety, where pink is less exciting, but made of unconditional love. And I am trying to make time in my life for both.
(For the curious, the yarn is, clockwise from top left: Madelinetosh Prairie in Baltic; Madelinetosh DK in Bloomsbury; Hazel Knits Artisan Sock in Serenity; Hazel Knits Artisan Sock in Pink Purl.)
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