there are some of us that don't do things half-way. what do we do? we jump in feet first. to this end, i am hostessing an atc swap over at swap-bot (click on the image to warp over there):
i know most of my friends are fiber-artists, but maybe you'll take this opportunity to dip a toe into the atc world.
Friday, February 16, 2007
Saturday, February 10, 2007
cool craft... again
i've been suffering with an atrocious head & chest cold. i finally felt well enough today to clean house a bit and put up my craft table in the living room. and i returned to a craft (art?) i began toying with a year ago - and then promptly put in the craft cupboard for 12 months.
thanks to the discovery of swap-bot and further swaps at atcards, i have rediscovered the fun of atcs (artist trading cards).
dig it, the first cards for swap. these are for a swap through atcards called 'honoring the goddess.'
this is 'brigid.'
this is 'rhiannon.'
this is 'parvati.'
thanks to the discovery of swap-bot and further swaps at atcards, i have rediscovered the fun of atcs (artist trading cards).
dig it, the first cards for swap. these are for a swap through atcards called 'honoring the goddess.'
this is 'brigid.'
this is 'rhiannon.'
this is 'parvati.'
Friday, February 02, 2007
all hail st. brigid
in honor of second annual brigid in cyberspace (silent) poetry reading, i give you this:
When You Are Old
by WB Yeats
WHEN you are old and gray and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;
How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;
And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face among a crowd of stars.
When You Are Old
by WB Yeats
WHEN you are old and gray and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;
How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;
And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face among a crowd of stars.
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