First Prize Winner, Susan Bartels:
It was a dark and stormy knit, the stitches dropped in torrents – except at occasional intervals, when they were picked up by a violent test of wills which swept up the room (for it is in my knitting room that our scene lies), tearing along the shoulder seam, and fiercely agitating the gauge of the stitches that struggled against the needles.
Second Prize Winner, Sandy Sheppard:
It was a dark and stormy knit; the yarn bombs wound looser then tighter around trees and street signs on Main Street in torrents of stitches—except at occasional intervals, when they were knitted up utility poles that marched down Bank Street and Forest Street (for it is in Harwich that our scene lies), determined to stay bound along the wires, scant flames of color and pattern that struggled against the darkness.
Third Prize Winner, Donna Z:
It was a dark and stormy knit, caused by unintelligible directions ( K2 tog, TBL, K1, sl 1, PSSO), making my eyes fog over like a Nantucket morning and my head spin like a rusty weather vane in a Category 5 hurricane.
It was a dark and stormy knit, where the power went out causing me to knit the purls and purl the knits causing me to have to go opposite and “tink”.
It was a dark and stormy knit with yarn the color of rain clouds, all black and brown and gray, much like the streets of London on a gloomy winter day, while only a glint of the needles did brighten up my way.
It was a dark and stormy night and I was working on a last minute gift and the lights went out.
It was a dark and stormy knit project being worked on one night in my living room and the air was full of expletives, which is the case when I undertake knitting something that requires using black yarn.
It was a dark and stormy knit, her merino silk scarf was ragged at the edge but she loved it so, she wore it often, the frayed fabric was feather light (she remembered the first time she wore it many years ago in a restaurant overlooking Maho Bay) she moved like Harlot across the room slowly making her way around each table never taking her eyes off the prize; she has spent many hours planning this scene, each word she would say, her face perfectly poised like the mask on the wall – “keep your eyes on the
prize”, she said over and over under her breath – the waiter was quick to appear as she slipped into the black oversized chair, she felt small as she began to recite the words, the phrases she had practiced over and over through many sleepless nights, she jumped and became confused when he said, “Come closer,” and fingering her scarf, she quickly gained her composure hoping he hadn’t noticed, (she could see the beautiful soft colors of yarn as she tilted her head slightly and became frightened that her
plan wouldn’t work); “keep your eyes on the prize”.
It was a dark and stormy knit lit meeting afternoon and members breathlessly awaited the arrival of their leader Carla, who was bringing huge baskets of newly dyed yarns from Manos Del Uruguay, which was gifted to her by an anonymous patron of the library, and all secretly hoped these yarns would arrive safely.
It was a dark and stormy knit and I was in a snit, the sky began to spit, and the knit was split a bit.
It was a dark and stormy knit; the cables on my fisherman’s sweater looked like angry sea serpents, and my M1L’s were all listing to the right.