Mother's love

Knit.Purl. Knit.Purl. Knit.

Two simple ingredients that create magic.

Cables. Moss. Basketweaves.Rosebuds. Ribbed sleeves. Rounded collars.

Of all the jumpers I have ever worn, I’ve never found one that didn’t have a breath of my mother’s love cleverly wound into its knits and purls.

Every pullover, every cardigan was crafted from thick, wonderful, warm wool that a beloved friend got for us all the way from Dehra—rolled together and unrolled stitch by stitch, knit by purl.

Hours rolled by as moments of borrowed time, thoughts, emotions, a catch of the sunrise, a long shadow of a November sunset  caught between her fingers, twirled deftly into a moment of love.

Into a story to be passed on through the years.

Into a marvel.

A masterpiece.

Crafted in love.

Each time I see a hand knitted jumper, I can’t help but think of the wonder it is. Of how it was created. 

There will always be an element of non uniformity that a machine can never churn out—

The imperfection of a human hand.

Of a mother’s sore hands.

A texture that no batch production can ever achieve.

A mother’s love is special for each of her children.

So are each of the marvels she creates.

Etched and knitted deep into their grateful hearts.