This color combination of lavender and scarlet is the result of an impulse decision.
The stories that are forming in my head with their names -Moonflower and Devilish Grin- on my tongue, are irresistible.
However, the first few rows of lavender and scarlet together make me question my decision. Is this really the right color combination for me?
I love their contrast, but it is also not at all like me. Besides, those colors are so different from the palette of my previous knitting projects. Do I have any other pieces of clothing in my wardrobe that will go well with lavender AND scarlet?
I continue nevertheless and see the magic of this hat unfolding in my hands. The lavender shifts to darker hues, a marble of grays and greens and purples while the scarlet stays bright and red. Unapologetically. Like a red thread in a gray life. Like the person who seeks more with great passion.

Or the Autumn Sage I keep seeing on foggy November days. As a last stand of brightness against the coastal fog. (Actually, hadn’t it been for the reds in my yarn, I wouldn’t have wanted to find out the name of those bright red flowers. Now that I know it is a type of sage, I will never not see them.) Or the red toyon berries, abundant bird food in the winters of Southern California.
On a late morning walk with my son I pick some lavender and rosemary and purple sage to contrast a scarlet autumn sage. I pick up a small redwood branch. My fingertips smell like a herb garden as they fly through the stitches in my hat.
Once the purple has faded entirely from the main color, it appears as magenta in the red, scarlet’s shrill sister, an eye catcher by nature.
And oh! The texture of this hat is alluring!
Knitting the crown shaping rounds is a breeze. The math aligns. Any mistake previously made gets spotted right away due to the rhythm of the pattern. The colors shift once more, towards each other it seems this time. Moonflower twists out of the dark into a marbled lavender while the devil grins in a twisted way too. Scarlet has been joined by garnet, her darker sister. The hat ends this way. Cinched tight by dark lavender.
And then something happens that rarely does – I weave in the ends instantly. There are only four and the hat urges to be worn under a full Beaver Moon. I put it on. With instant compliments from my husband. This is the hat I have been waiting for, after all!

A red velvet ribbon comes to mind. One that, if tied to a ribbon, unfurls with the slightest of tugs. The fabric that slithers out of the bow with a very satisfying noise carries the feeling of excitement. Something has been opened.
The integrity of the yarn, tugged at by the wind under the full beaver moon, takes the place of the ribbon. Its magic intertwined in my new hat.
A moment outside and the maiden wear of my completed hat. A marvelling look at the moon and the thin clouds that have gathered around it, breaking its light in the faintest of halos. Now, I am sure the moonflowers out there are silently bowing their blossoms to the moon too. Full and teinted red.