A Pouf of Ponchos?

I make one for my daughter.

It looks delightful.

I knit one for myself, they're so quick and easy.

I knit one for my older daughter, sludge coloured so that she can blend in with her beloved trees. Since my mother-in-law’s birthday is only a day or two away, I knit another one.

I have quite a bit of wool left over.

At the weekend, when everyone is home, I sort though my wool basket to the delight of small people who frequently believe that playing with balls of yarn makes them every bit as irresistible as kittens.

“You are knit me?”
“Pardon?”
“I need?”
“What do you need?”
“I am needing a pouf too,” he wheedles.

It certainly would be a good way to use up all the scraps and leftovers. It might help reduce global warming. It would fit in well with the recycling plan. It would be bound to come in handy when the summer days wane and everyone complains of chilliness.

“Ah! Waste not want not! Which would you prefer, greeny, purply, pink, or sludge, or red, or lemon or stripes?”

He pauses, deep in thought, “I am be have golden!” he announces with glee, as yellow is still his current favourite but his father is quicker off the mark as he pounces, “not on your nelly Sunny Jim, you'll look like a complete………” I lop him on his politically incorrect loaf.

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