Yarning For Home

Aurora

A little tap tap on my head had me thinking, “The heck?” Unsure what was tapping on my brain bowl, or if I owned a cat.

“Tiny Space… Yeti… stole my spaghetti.” I grumbled, waking myself from an unscheduled nap amid a toasty nest of fuzzy pillows and ridiculously soft throws. “Whaa?! What on Earth had I been dreaming? Some kind of children’s book?”

I tried to concentrate on coherent thoughts but a blurry blob of bright fur with a cute but creepy smile, smeared with red, floated into my mind as far away, I heard a growling, “ROAR… AH!”

“Yikes!” I shook my head, “Nu uh!” Was I still dreaming? Cuz no. No thank you growls and gremlins! Blinking hard a few times to reset my brain-puter, I crawled slash rolled out of my nest. I was starving, rubbing my tummy under my shirt, totally craving, well, spaghetti. A huge bowl of it. Or had I already eaten it? “That was…” What? Flipping odd? Peculiar? “Weird.” I grabbed my blue, metal water bottle and sucked down some electrolytes, biting the light blue, silicone mouthpiece as I pondered and tried to shake off my groggy brain. “Hmmm.” Last I remembered, I’d been listening to Austenland. Not watching. Just listening. And watching out my skylight as it rained and blustered, pine tree branches swaying, fat rain plops and small pinecones pelting down.

“Food! Then yarn!” I reminded myself, as I headed downstairs from my remarkably darkened loft. Nap lounge. “Eat ze food. Be a human. Then create stuff. And… things.” I grabbed the end of a blue yarn ball and began rolling it as my doorbell rang. “The frik!” I jumped and nearly missed a step as I dropped the mysteriously misplaced yarn ball and tripped toward my turquoise front door.

I clicked my dead bolt to the right, turned the cold door knob, staring down at my front porch ‘unwelcoming’ mat, which read, “Disperse”, and saw a square box just waiting for me. “Oh YAY! My yarn ball maker! My balls. My balls. My cranking, yarny balls.” I sang, changing the words to a Black Eyed Peas song as I scanned my neighborhood. It sat quietly amid the stillness of a foggy gloom which must have recently settled in, thus forcing out the rain. Like a low level cloud got lost or was afraid of heights.

“The Gloom is back. Oooo spooky gloomy.”

I was all cozied up in my green hammock, stomach full of gnocchi, minding my own, soft, red yarn, singing I “Love You Always Forever, near or far, closer together,” as I added red eyes to my black, crocheted yarn bat when a gorgeous dude not from around Earth bounded up my front porch steps and stole my breath! And ME!

Now- we’re on a ship heading toward his home so very far from mine, and I’m beginning to think it’s the best flipping thing that has ever happened to me! Especially while holding a crochet hook and yarn. Could this be the future I’ve been hoping for since I learned to love yarn?

Will he let me wind his heart with mine… forever?

And is there a tiny Space Yeti on board his ship? Or is there not?! Cuz I know I couldn’t have eaten all that spaghetti BY MYSELF!

Right?

Or made up that cute but creepy smile smeared with red sauce on white fur? Or the thing that tapped my head during my accidental zombie apocalypse nap?

I’m suddenly yearning for home.

“Yarning… heh heh. Yarning for home.” Oh my!

I was already breaking. Where was my crochet hook when I needed it? To calm my mind, my thoughts, to stop the spiral? To soothe my heart? Then a quick visual memory flared back in my eye portals. An image of my newly opened delivery.

“Oh my goodness! It’s called a WOOL WINDER!”Oh wow! Nice remembering under stress, Aurora! I know! Thank you! “Yarn balls, yarn balls, my windy, wooly balls.”

But remembering what it was called wouldn’t magically take me back home or unwind my newly twisty space life.

“Oh, Merciful Saint Midnight!”