Many many moons ago, I was playing around with some yarn. This yarn was some of the many many many partial cones and mixed lots that I bought for pennies on the dollar from the woman who sold me my loom.

I pulled out a turquoise wool, a black wool, and a fine loopy variegated bright colored acrylic novelty yarn and wound a warp. I held the intention of using what I had rather than buying more to add to the shelves upon shelves of yarn! I also had the vague intention of "using up" a cone or three. I barely made a dent on any of them with this warp for a single scarf.

I beamed the warp. And then the warp sat. And sat. And sat. Until a few weeks ago, when I sat down and wove it off; it had to go... to make way for wrap warps! The weft is a black cotton that I also had on hand.

I'm pretty happy with it, all things considered. The many many moons through which this warp (and my loom!) sat neglected and cold also served to allow my hands to forget the rhythms of weaving. Of how the shuttle flies, of tension and speed. My mind still knew, of course. But my hands had forgotten. And so the selvedges on the first half of the scarf are truly abominable. I didn't take a picture (its my blog, and I can curate if I want to!) but they are wretched. By the end of the scarf, my hands had remembered. My beat became increasingly even and consistent, my selvedges cleared themselves of loops.

And so, all things considered, I'm really quite grateful to this scarf. For remembering my the rhythms of the loom.