Linda’s picture from the Cherry Blossom Festival in Prospect Park last year perfectly captures the weather today in North Carolina.

I’m drinking coffee and wearing a hoodie and my bangs keep blowing into my eyes as children keep running past me on the co-op lawn. At a nearby table a student is doing her homework, spelling out the vocabulary words, ‘L-O-O-N spells loon,’ to the tutor sitting with her. Even though it is the last day of February, spring has sprung momentarily.

Despite the warming temperatures, I am determined to finish knitting the 36 squares which will comprise my blanket for the back of the couch- a light throw to stave off the chill of scary movies and spring nights. So far I am at 32, using all scrap wool from various places, each color is like a reminder of old garments created or ripped out. There is a blue the color of glaciers I saw in Alaska and a taupe leftover from a museum project a few years ago.

Using up the remains of my stash is more than just a practical exercise, it is also an exercise of remembrance. One that takes me through my own personal history with knitting as I count down the squares needed and place them out on the rug, wondering where all the things I have created live now, and if perhaps they are keeping someone warm somewhere where it is not quite yet spring.