April is the cruelest month.

At least that's what T.S. Eliot wrote in the Wasteland.  As far as I am concerned, March is not much better.  There is hope that the weather will warm and the world will wake up and become green again.  But on the gray days of late march and early April, the hope seems dim.  Shadowed with it is my creative spirit.  There has been some unhappiness on the farm and I have not felt much like writing, cooking, or making anything.  You know it's bad when I don't knit.

The kid did make a scarf.  I had picked up a toy knitting machine at the consignment toy store and we put it to good use, though my pom poms stink.  I think I am pom pom impaired.  She likes it anyway.

Okay, I am knitting a little.  I am working on a pair of fingerless gloves, and bit by bit, the sock yarn blanket grows.  The small squares are just about the right size.  The brightness of the clown barf minis helps.

Right when I finish the gloves, the weather will finally warm and I won't need them.  It will get better.