I am taking another stab at two-stranded colorwork. These will be a pair of goldfish mitts for Megan, if I can get them right. I have already knit to the end and frogged back to this spot once.
Stitch has discovered that knitting needles make great feather scratchers. This has hindered my progress quite a bit, as he doesn't understand why when I sit down to knit, he isn't always invited to join in.
He and I have been going out to the Autumn Grove quite a bit to try and enjoy the last golden swish of willows. The sun rises over the mountain at nine, and shines right into the copse. We sit and get warmed by it while the chickadees feast and the chipmunks tattletale on us. Yesterday, the offering bowl was tipped almost out of the tree. I blamed greedy chipmunks at first, but while we sat there, a very conscientious gray squirrel came to check us out. He was quite the drama llama, flinging himself around in puffed up importance while he barked about the odd couple of human and strangely-colored bird. I am pretty sure he had a badge in his pocket.