I was reading The Gentle Art of Domesticity by Jane Brocket over at Yarnstorm and found this poem:
Winding Wool
She'd bring to me a skein of wool
And beg me to hold out my hands;
so on my pipe I cease to pull
And watch her twine the shining strands
Into a ball so snug and neat,
Perchance a pair of socks to knit
To comfort my unworthy feet,
Or pullover my girth to fit.
As to the winding I would sway,
A poem in my head would sing,
And I would watch in dreamy way
The bright yarn swiftly slendering.
The best I liked were coloured strands
I let my pensive pipe grow cool . . .
Two active and two passive hands,
So busy wining shining wool.
Alas! Two of those hands are cold,
And in these days of wrath and wrong,
I am so wearyful and old,
I wonder if I've lived too long.
So in my loneliness I sit
And dream of sweet domestic rule . . .
When gentle women used to knit,
And men were happy winding wool.
by Robert William Service
It felt very autumnal to me. When I look out our windows into the community gardens everything is starting to go yellow around the edges. It's lovely.
Here's a cute winding wool themed greeting card from Tea Snug:
i love that poem. it made me think of my nana, who used to have me sit with my 2 hands sticking out with the yarn draped over them as she wound it up into little balls.
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