She Who Knits in the Buddhist Monastery Her bare toes nudge the barn floor from her caned rocking chair. Her fingers knit stripes, cables of mantle and crust, riffs of watersheds running down to ruffled-water blue binding. Ribbed fabric slumps around her knotted calves like lazy Vermont mountains. I pass near her. I hear a […]Read more "She Who Knits in the Buddhist Monastery"