This is my last morning at Port Ludlow. Today Tina and I move from here to her house, where we’ll do a bit of work, then enjoy a quick weaving lesson. (Mostly the weaving lesson is for her. I’ll be without a loom, but will listen carefully.)  On Sunday I fly home, to a busy week (I have an event in Toronto on Thursday that should be a good time, you’re all invited)  but one at home, and I’m really looking forward to it. My bed, my home, my husband, my girls. Can’t wait.  I feel like I’ve been away for a month.  (Oh wait.  I have been.) Still, as much as I love home, there’s no reason not to enjoy where I am now, and so this morning I got up, took my coffee out the the deck and sat quietly, watching a very red sunrise and trying to remember that rhyme. I think it’s "Red sky at night, sailors delight, red sky in morning, sailors take warning"- and I wondered what that meant for the weather today.  It was so still, and so perfect, and a little cold, so I gave a sympathetic nod to a few ducks who didn’t care, and came back inside. 

Now as I sit here, writing to you and knitting with my second cup of coffee, I see that this is one of those days when the planet tries to answer questions directly.  Does a red sky in the morning mean foul weather is coming? Yes, at least today.  The wind has come up, the clouds are racing, the temperature dropping, and mysteriously, the ducks have found a place to disappear to.  The wind is howling outside, making the house tremble a little, and the trees bang on the windows and I’m happy for the fire, a cup of coffee and the little sweater I’m making that’s coming along so well.

It’s Perlemor – from one of my favourite books, Soft Treasures for Little Ones . (It’s true.  I love almost everything in that one, although I think it’s out of print, so your best bet might be the library if you’re interested.) Knit out of soft and beautiful Dale of Norway Baby Ull.  Such a nice yarn. Such a nice pattern. 

It’s just about perfect here right this minute, all alone – with the fire and my knitting cozy inside, and the wind raging and flinging leaves around outside.  I can hear it howling, and I know today the sailors should have taken warning, and if I had my way? 

I wouldn’t be moving today at all.  I’d stay right here. Cozy, defended, by the fire and knitting. Getting ready to quietly observe my two moments of silence for Remembrance Day at the 11th hour, and missing being at home where this day is an important one for our family.  (If you live in Canada, don’t forget.  If you live anywhere else, a moment to contemplate past sacrifices and hold the ideal of peace couldn’t hurt you either.)

We have got to get busy on that teleporter.