I notice it more in winter, when my skin is pale. The other scars on my hands are more visible - the burn mark from two ovens ago, an ant bite that never healed. This one is barely there, but it has a better story.

It's my only knitting-related injury.

A few years ago, a lace shawl pattern online grabbed my attention and wouldn't let go. The lace had such a great balance of positive and negative space, I just had to knit it. There was a bit of a delay while I tried to teach myself enough Finnish to translate the pattern, much to the amusement of my parents. Eventually someone else circulated an English version, just in time to fulfill my winter-long fantasy of knitting this shawl on my porch all summer.

What I had not counted on was my cat's fondness for the hanging out on the porch. One day he decided to hunt and kill my ball of yarn. My delicate, laceweight yarn that breaks easily under tension. So I chased, and he scuttled, and I got the yarn back. I noticed the splinter in my hand just as I was reaching for my knitting to make sure no stitches had slipped off the needles. I remember weighing the risks: secure the shawl from further mayhem, or ensure the blood wouldn't stain it?