Y is for Yarn

The wicker basket in Gracie’s spare room was filled with balls of yarn of almost every shade of blue.  The basket sat on the floor beside the rocking chair and also in it were a pair of knitting needles and a How To Knit book for dummies.  A light film of dust covered the book cover.

Some of the balls of yarn had already been used, they were less than half the size of the newer ones which still had the price stickers on.

A year had passed and the therapist suggested to Gracie that perhaps it was time to start clearing the room.  A step forward.

She walked in and her gaze fell on the wicker basket.  She’d forgotten they were there.  She tried to forget a lot of things this past year.  But failed anyway.

She took a deep breath and fell to her knees, gently touching the balls of yarn.  She remembered the day she went into the store to buy them.  She’d laughed and told the shop assistant that she wanted to knit but didn’t know how!  The shop assistant had laughed and showed her the books for beginner knitters.

She stroked the balls of yarn and sighed.  She dug beneath them, reaching the bottom of the wicker basket and pulled out booties, a hat and a blanket in shades of blue.

Her mouth trembled, she held them to her chest, willing the tears to stay at bay, ordering her hands to stop shaking.  Her heart rebelled and clenched with pain anyway.

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