I look down in my lap, and in the coarse wool are woven images which represent my frustrations, my fears, my sorrows. I have been working on this sweater, a little bit every day, my whole life. Over the years it has changed – adding on bits, losing bits – becoming larger and smaller, but always mine, the colors and patterns always familiar. At last my fingers ache and I can do no more today. I stand and pull the sweater over my head, feeling the heavy wool dragging down on my shoulders. I hold it close around my throat and step out into the wild weather. In spite of my best efforts, the sweater does not offer much comfort against the cold – the wind pierces the wide gauge of the stitches and touches my flesh with its chilly fingertips. The freezing rain soaks the wool until it drags me down heavily, and the fabric freezes stiff in the icy blasts. I am shivering with cold, but instinctively still clutching the miserable sweater against my skin. When all of a sudden I spot a seagull,. When he had finally finished with me. I was finally spent too. I crawled into the bathroom and put the shower on. I sat on the floor and let the water shower down upon and over my body for what seemed hours. Finally I got to my feet and soaped and washed myself down.When I came out the three dogs were waiting for me.Not to have sex. They were whining. I realized what they wanted. They needed to go out. I put on a bathrobe and gingerly opened the bedroom door and looked out. All seemed clear. So down the stairs and I let them out of the back door into the garden. I had a big garden and they rushed out to relieve themselves and explore.Now I had to think about feeding them. What would they eat? Not having had a dog before what would they like?It was whilst I was working on this conundrum the door bell rang.It took me a few minutes to get to the front door and open it as I had to slip on quickly some clothes. When I did I found it was Alice. With some relief I let her in and she looked.
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