Lashes lowered, she counts certain of the cars of the train lumbering by, marking the number into her row of knitting by dropping stitches, thinking of the grandmother who taught her to knit as a young girl with blonde braids and bare feet who climbed apple trees blossoming in the Spring of peacetime. How shocked Grandmother would be to see this uneven piece of work, riddled as though with bulletholes. Yet, how proud.
Black shawl covering grey hair, she sits, knitting needles clicking, invisible to the soldiers arrogantly striding past, their eyes scanning suspiciously the country people on the platform.
Lashes lowered, she counts certain of the cars of the train lumbering by, marking the number into her row of knitting by dropping stitches, thinking of the grandmother who taught her to knit as a young girl with blonde braids and bare feet who climbed apple trees blossoming in the Spring of peacetime. How shocked Grandmother would be to see this uneven piece of work, riddled as though with bulletholes. Yet, how proud.
Paul A Freeman
25/8/2023 10:47:14 pm
Smart lady.
Sue Clayton
29/8/2023 04:57:30 am
Deviously clever. What a brilliant garment to be knitting. Comments are closed.
|
"Classic"
|