We've had a weird week here in Seattle so far. Yesterday morning, I was drinking my coffee when I heard the news that there was a helicopter crash near the Space Needle. Sometimes I forget how small Seattle feels as a place and a community, but yesterday it really hit home. The pilot and photographer who died in the crash were both from our local news channel, so the newscasters reporting on the story were visibly shaken. I can only imagine how that must feel, to lose two colleagues in a split-second tragedy and then to have to walk in front of a camera and talk about it. How heartbreaking.
The thing is: yesterday was beautiful. Sometime in the night, thousands of tiny green shoots emerged from dormancy, and as I walked out of work, the street in the afternoon sun held a strange, blue-green glow of spring. When I got home, the trellis in our neighbor's front yard was covered in new blossoms, and I was able to snap some photos as the light faded.
And it was strange for it to be so beautiful, because all day, I was distracted by darkness. The color of the street that my housemate crosses to work every day, covered in foam and ash and kerosene. The black slant of shadow as the metal belly and blade of the helicopter fell through the sun to the ground. The faces of the photographer and the pilot in the cockpit, the soft morning shadows sketching across their faces, not realizing that these were their last moments. That crushing dark, in the middle of the bright morning.
So it seemed bittersweet that the day should be so lovely, as the whole city shuddered with loss.
I love the work I've been doing lately. I'm working on my tailored jacket; knitting samples and sketching new things; measuring and calculating and organizing my thoughts. I worked at Vogue Knitting Live last weekend, then I helped reorganize the shop yesterday, and at the end of the day, it was immensely satisfying to see the result of all our hard work - the bright stacks of older yarn shuffled and neatened, the samples shaken out and re-hung, the new yarns all tucked away.
And I've been taking joy in objects: a leather notebook with removable inserts; a new issue of Interweave Crochet with romantic garments and beautiful shapes; laser-cut wood coasters with cherry blossoms and fir cones on them. The days are starting earlier and ending later, and along with the light, the spring is bringing newness and possibility.
I can't wait to see what happens next.