The cold wood of the rocking chair met her with an unyielding embrace. She slumped into it, adjusting frail wings to find comfort. Two pine needles were nearby with the start of a scarf tangled in them. Drying damp eyes on her arm, she grabbed them and straightened the scarf out. How long had this been sitting? The threads twisted in her figures as she held a needle in each hand.
Knit, purl, knit; the motions came as if she never stopped. Purl, knit, purl. She kicked the floor and set the chair to rocking. Knit, purl, knit. Tension eased away one stitch at a time. Tomorrow would be different, maybe it would be better.