The wind tossed waves of the unkind world crash upon the craggy rock of my troubled mind. There are a hundred tasks to accomplish, a thousand people to please and a million dreams I must set aside to make it all happen.
At least, that's what most Mondays feel like.
I don't know why my mind sometimes decides that it is so very persecuted. I've really got all I need: a loving family, beautiful friends, financial security and a place to live. To be quite honest, I think feeling pitiful is an activity that my brain enjoys. It may just be an old trail that has become so worn with overuse that thought travels its course naturally.
Either way, I've got a beautiful solution in wool.
When I'm sad, I just bury my face in a nice pile of fiber, be it yarn, roving or raw fleece. This is my happy place. My wool adores me. It is a friend who has nothing but love and appreciation for me. I am the kind master who can turn it in to all manner of things and the wool rewards my patient effort with objects of beauty.
I used to keep my stash neatly stacked in the closet. Today I've learned that my yarn is meant to be kept out on display. It is a friend that greets me each time I walk through the front door, enticing me to grab a skein or two and rub them against my face.
I've currently got an entire trash bag of Jacob wool lying in the middle of my floor. Caressing it gives me joy. It is the product of centuries of caring for funny little horned animals with happiness growing on their backs. It is a companion for hard times.
My skein of silk/alpaca lovingly spun from fiber gifted to me by my sister is another gentle friend. Simply looking at its sheen makes me smile. Touching it soothes even the worst aches.
Simple little pots of dye make me smile too. With time, they will be applied to roving that anxiously awaits its dressing in magic colors. Just the potential for creation lifts my soul from its darkest realms.
Monday is never a fun day, but my fiber makes it better.