Yesterday was a great knitting group, a full house, with work like this
Beautiful, no? S is a great knitter. Someone pointed out that you could tell who was knitting what, from the color choices which they'd dressed in, too.
S was wearing an outfit in the warm mellow shades of the foreground hat, M in the blues and greys of the shawl she's working on, and I was in bright green and toned in with the current socks.
At home, a sleepless night made me glad of junk reading, like this hugely enjoyable box o' gossip
And here's the current book group selection
She wrote the Olive Kitteridge books, and I keep on thinking that's the writer, forgetting the actual writers name. This one promises to be as episodic and provocative and touching as earlier books featuring the main character here, Lucy Barton.
Yesterday on the way to the knitting group, I saw a double crested cormorant at the lake, sitting on a fallen tree snag, wings held out to dry in the sun. No place safe to pull over for a picture, but here's the pose
They're fishing birds, whose wings are not waterproof, because they dive and need to be not too buoyant, or they wouldn't be able to stay under water to hunt. So when they surface, they have to dry out like this.
