The pink orphan sweater is three balls full

A while ago I dyed a bump of white roving by soaking one side in pink dye and the other side in purple, then spinning it up. I then plied the yarn on itself. Since I like chunky yarn with lots of texture, I have never bothered to learn to spin smooth and fine. I am now knitting that pink and purply yarn on size 10 needles, and it goes like a brushfire in the tumbleweeds! This will be a thick, heavy, oh so cozy garment for some cold kid in Romania. It's nice to have a fast project while I patiently, patiently, knit on the silk.

Today I am taking GEDs to the jail. Too bad I can't take my knitting in with me. Still, it gives me time to work on the western. And soon we will be doing tax-board tests, and that gives me four hours of knitting time for every test. Who can complain about that?

Friday, DH and I will be going to the State Fair to see the chickens and sheepies and goats and quilts and pickles and largest zucchini, and biggesst sunflower and so on. Our state also has poetry contests. This is the first year in seven I have not had an entry. Once I won a purple ribbon grand prize with this poem:

98 in the shade

Knee deep in daisies,
I wade the selvedges of the summer,
-- the weedy waste edges of the standing wheat --
with the full weight of the sun on my shoulders,
roasting the marrow of my bones,
filling my blood with a flickering quick vitality.
each step kicks up sprays of grasshoppers,
popping and rattling,
bright, chitinous drops from this drowsy ocean
washing in whiteflower froth against my shins
while the bitter broken-daisy scent stings the air.
A hawk drops. I turn to watch.
And one pearl of perspiration
slithers like a lizard
down my spine.