Square 24: Pilgrimage to Fletcher

One quick square before I leave. This evening I depart to open the family cottage.

Although my parents didn't buy the property until I was 15, we used to visit friends there, so I have spent vacation time every summer of my life at Lake Fletcher. For me that name has always been a synonym for quiet reflection, both mental and physical: mind's troubles draining away as colours play across the water. It is a living, fragrant lake, the water deep gold in the depths, its surface a labyrinth of sky hues. On cloudy days the waves are pewter, on clear days deep cerulean, but most days a mixture of colours dances across even the calmest water.

I wish it wasn't so far away (almost four hours by car), but then perhaps I wouldn't appreciate as much.

Several weeks ago Danny and I traversed the labyrinth in High Park, Toronto, which is based on a famous one in Chartres Cathedral. A labyrinth is an opportunity to meditate. While walking it, I realized that a knitted work is a labyrinth, too: one long path of thread convoluted around itself.

This evening I will treat the long drive to Fletcher as a labyrinth, a pilgrimage to the quiet centre of my life. In this time of change and anxiety, I badly need it! I will take the laptop, three good books, some food and, of course, a selection of yarn. I will return with stories.