A man and a woman walk through the park together, holding hands. They pass an old woman sitting on a bench. The old woman is knitting a small, red sweater. The man begins to cry.

From the vantage point of the old woman:

As soon as I finish my breakfast, I gather the equipment I need for my current knitting project and head for the park. As I walk, the sun is shining and its warmth feels like a much beloved cloak against my skin. Once I reach the park, I sit down on a bench that gives me a panoramic view of the park.

I pull my knitting needles, my red yarn, and the parts of the sweater I have already completed from my bag. The sweater is for my great-grandson and I plan to have it finished in time for his five-year-old birthday party next week. Before I begin working on the sweater, I take some time to watch the children playing in the playground. A young boy notices me looking at him and walks up to me, his mother keeping an eye in the distance. “What are you doing lady?” “I’m making a sweater for my great-grandson,” I respond. “I have a red sweater too! It’s my favorite. Bye….” he says as he runs back to the playground. I begin knitting and soon am immersed in the pleasure of the clicking needles, the feel of the yarn and most important, the magic that occurs when a piece of straight yarn turns into a soon-to-be treasured sweater. Continue reading “A Scene from Three Vantage points” →