In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:

151 The Knitters The knitters sit with their knitting sitting in their laps, their fingers nimble as mice feet as their needles twirl two-color twitches of yarn into well-reasoned whorls, their work their letter to the cold world. Sunlight falls across the silence. Then, “My daughter is leaving.” Here the house is around them. In the fields there are horses. “Do you think she will stay?” Some spin their own yarn. The wool matters. “I don’t know.” They have time in their hands. Here language has no translation. Sheep are messengers. The snow lies over their gardens, gardens that will rise in the late spring. “I hope she will find something.” They knit together once a week. They knit alone. They knit in church, at meetings. They say, “What are you working on?” ...

Share