The clocks went back today, marking the end of Daylight Saving Time in Europe. As if on cue, the weather has turned distinctly wintry, with heavy cloud on Mt Pelion, intermittent rain and some chilly winds nipping spitefully about. The waters of the Pagasitic seem unsure of themselves, taken aback that the gales have ceased but ominous cloud remains, so the waves are tentative, hesitant, though I don’t doubt they are more than prepared to rear up in rage if required. No vessel visible. Not one. Those who ply the waters here are generally wise to the ways of the weather, and they clearly are taking no risks.Resetting the clocks makes me reflect on the passage of time; of the seasons and their cycles; of the impermanence of things. There’s been much in the news of the exciting tomb discoveries at Amphipolis – perhaps Alexander the Great’s mother is buried there – and it all serves again to emphasise that things come and go, things change, they stay the same, they change again. Cycles and circles. Never ending. Round and round.
All the talk of Alexander and the kings of Macedon, the pomp, ceremony and finery associated with royalty, brought the colour purple to mind. Purple is closely associated with rulers and potentates throughout history, who paraded before the minions, clothed in garments of deepest purple, a dye so expensive and time-consuming to produce that only the sumptuously rich could afford it.
There’s quite a bit of purple in my yarn stash. It’s a useful colour to have on hand. Jason, silently philosophical as ever, should get a new hat. And he has. His hat is knitted in the round; it’s knitted circularly, without seam, as most of my hats are. It has four ridged bands which represent the seasons. Green is for spring and fresh growth; yellow is for summer sun; deepest orange for autumn’s fading glory, and red for winter. Red for cosy fires, red for cheer through long, grey days, red anticipating the return of warmer days.Jason will never say if he likes it, but I do.