Months of thinking, knitting, writing, photographing. Finally. The quiet hour is upon us.
A time when the full moon sines, glinting and glistening to the world below, caught silver strands on tree branches and wires, a world in silhouette. A time when breathing slows, and sleep caresses shadows. The quiet hour.
Bright light - brilliant white diamond light - casting deep shadows, drawing drape into folds, and catching the silver light of threads of silk and steel. gathered decadence amongst minimalist lines. A place where the sun shines and cheeks become flushed with warmth. The quiet hour.
Caught between light and dark. The quiet hour.
Needles entwine threads of silk, steel, and wool, wrapping and weaving - their own glistening and shimmering created, catching the light. A silk bow, soft and elegant, to tie it all together. Sleeveless and long, to be work over a fine wool knit or a cotton t-shirt, or worn with bare arms and fine wool trousers, slouched and elegant, loose and gathered.