A Handknit Sock There’s a math to it. The cast on. Count the multiples of four. Last year it was hats and cowls. This year, socks. I want to try the fish lips kiss heel. It’s a simple thing. How a sock is knit. You start with yarn. Needles as slim as toothpicks. Terms like toe and gusset and cuff. My friend says, "it’s too much work." There’s a rhythm in the repetition. The making. Clockwise circles. Some throw, some pick. Row after row after row. In time you get length and warmth. There’s the calm you long for, around and around and around. Turn heel for a path to Zen. You think of those you love. The grandmother who taught you. The wet squeezed out, pairs hang to dry. Later fold their softness, admire the colors, ignore imperfections. Find comfort, hidden in shoes. My squishy hand knit socks.