Recently I have been walking a labyrinth. It is built in the grass; the path is outlined with stones and rocks and ends in an open center. There is a large tree as an anchor providing shade. It is near a road, so it is accessible to everyone, but that means there is the noise of cars nearby. Somehow, when I am walking the path, it is peaceful. Not that the cars disappear all of a sudden, but my awareness of them does. I usually walk barefoot. The grassy path is soft, with yellow and purple flowers, but sometimes a little sharp with small stones and twigs. Sometimes it is wet, and cold, sometimes dry and prickly. There are wind chimes hanging in the trees nearby, but they don’t ring very often. It is a treat when they do. They are hanging out of reach, so you can’t ring them yourself; you have to wait and hope for it. The path is a simple circling one, that turns gently back and forth, edging toward the center, then back out a little, then all of a sudden in the middle. A small turn about the center starts you on the same path for the way out; the same path with a totally different perspective. There are no false turns, no tricks or dead ends. You are always moving forward on the path, even when circling back or away from where you think you are going or right next to where you have just been. The whole story of my life seems to be in there.
I want to capture this labyrinth in a sweater. I’ve thought about it and have a lot of ideas, and one skein of stone colored yarn, to use as a jumping off point. I’ll add this to the stash of ideas in my head. But this one is in my heart, too.