In praise of the slow knit

When I find myself between the larger projects, mulling over whether to start Frost Flowers and Leaves, Hidcote Garden, Sarcelle, or something from Victorian Lace, perhaps I should take on the nupps, or maybe even a sweater or a cardigan. For these times, like now, I like to have a safe, slow, languid knit to work on to help me decide.

You know, the kind of knit where you don't need the pattern any more. Where the repitition acts as a mantra for your knitting medidation. Where your mind can ruminate through it's inner catalogue of it's list of desires of unknitted and mysteriously inviting projects. The kind of knit you don't fall out of love with way before it's finished.

It should be long, made from something special, and ideally useful in it's own right when it too becomes complete in it's own time. It must be a low pressure knit, just knitting for it's own sake.

nd, when something as lovely as this emerges from under the needles, I think it makes the whole experience of knitting a beautiful thing. Don't you?