But No Grey

Day 55: All but one of my looms stand empty, the last being the bonker loom which I warped with something to the tune of fifteen yards which is going to keep me occupied for a while in that regard. Now the question is: what's next? I have a cupboard full of 8/2 cotton, bins and bins of yarn, specialty threads, bouclé, even a small amount of silk which was handed down to me by another weaver. I know what I want to make, but there is no grey among the two dozen colours represented here: no dove, no slate, no pewter, birch or battleship, no grey at all to make the wool of little sheepies in a field of blue flowers. It is hard for me to think about other possibilities when a particular one is in the forefront of my mind. The lack of grey is a plug in my mental plumbing, through which no creative juices can pass. I valiantly try to counsel myself to restraint. My supplier's annual sale is coming up in January or February. I must hold out until then. Somewhere, a small voice suggests another summer-and-winter project with yarn instead of thread, a scarf or shawl instead of a coverlet, but the yarns in the bins do not inspire me. I need grey. In the gloom of a Pacific Northwest winter, I want grey. As Mr. Spock would say, "Illogical."