torn, lustered, weathered in so many peices one wishesone can just give up. but one doesnt. he/she simple y goes on. thats all you can do. Life weathers you, you move on. You keep going till you don’t either lose the ability to go on or die.
he works late summers and early autumns out at sea, and she stays home to mind the blonde haired babies, and to twist her hands together like bent branches tangled up in a fence. every year, she wants to escape the narrow halls of the house, to live in an old, vine covered brick one with three stories made from dark, smelling wood. she would go up to the widow’s watch and look out at the sea beyond the houses to spot her husband’s boat, just a spec in the distance. as he came in with the tides, the same waves would wash over her and render her relieved.
but now in the narrow house that is squeezed beside others identical like it, in the 21st century, the blonde haired babies cry when the thunder eats up the sleeping silence, and she gasps when the lighting strobes. she waits for the call on the last day of his contract. she has no widows watch to peak out of, no clue if he is floating dead somewhere in the atlantic drift as the storm clouds press down. so she twists those hands together tightly until they’re red, but it doesn’t hurt. these hands have always weathered her.
Old, broken down, sad, like you want to help it, but there is no way to help it. Upsetting. Cold, wet, snowy, or hot and burned. Weather vane. Lots of bad weather has happened on it. Trees, and things like that.
Though his face was youthful and radiant, his soul was intensely weathered~ you never quite knew how he held it together, like a shard of rock, clinging stubbornly to the home it had known for millennia, poised like a fledgling nervous of it’s first flight.
One more winter and he might crack, or he might cling on as the generations passed.
His weathered cheeks crinkled as he laughed, and his blue eyes were full of life. He held the baby girl high above his head and swung her around. She was beautiful, like his daughter. He was proud to be a grandfather, and prouder still at the life created.
She was weathered at the end of a long day. Her life was a series of long days that turned into short nights. Little her time, a lot of everyone elses’. She wished she could get out, but she couldn’t fight her path. Her goals. She would be there a while. But it came down to her, her drained nature and her dread for the next day. Her bed always beaconed her, but it also haunted her. It was alone, and so was she.
The weathered door swung on the breeze, it’s rusty hinges groaning with each movement. The dust in the foyer danced across the cracked floorboards. A storm was coming to the abandoned farmhouse, and with it, a new family was arriving. The house waited, on the prairie. The paneless windows stared blankly out into the clear night, waiting for the storm. The dust shushed across the foyer, the floorboards eroded by decades of rain and snow and wind and dust. Someone new was coming to the old farmhouse. And something old was waiting.
Soul is weathered. Body is used. Mind is gone. Sitting in the corner, with arms covered in sores. The voices in my head boom, snarl and claw away. It takes a fire hot liquid to sooth it all. I put it in my veins. I almost reach the gate to rest. But I fall again. My soul is worn. It’s wings have molted. I stay broken. I stay consumed.
I feel so beaten down all the time. Like I spend my life under this strong wind that is constantly trying to blow me away. No matter how hard I stand strong, bear my shoulders and fight against it, it still finds ways to win. Slowly, the wind still manages to wear me down, taking small pieces of me with each gust. Leaving me raw and weathered.
The rocks along the shore were as weathered as her hands. She has spent the last week digging through the sand dunes, searching for the perfect sea shell. Today, she bends over her work diligently, almost like an ostrich burying its head in the sand. With a triumphant shout, she reaches into the grainy depths and produces a shimmering, iridescent shell, perfect and unharmed.
Over time you weather away, your core, your very center is rubbed away at the edges, by pain and loss and fear and even love, you are chipped away until all that’s left is sediment
Etched lines snake together, cracking. His face doesn’t change expression – hasn’t in years.
This is where hard skin meets an even harder soul.
He been broken before. He’s been beaten. How he’s still standing up today? He has no idea.
My flesh, once tight and taut now resembles that of an old book. Faded pages, weathered leather. It still feels soft, like rice paper. But it holds the ripples of experience. The waves of time. My smile has a collection of stories within each crease on my face. My eyes have crinkles like the paper fans I made as a child. My body is a ruin. A tribute to my life. Within this worn woman, are fresh visions.
The back deck of my house. These days I’m scared to go out there – there’s always that part of me that fears things aren’t as strong as they appear. Like the wooden swingset in my backyard. I can feel it swaying beneath me, and I know its time is running thin.
The birds didnt come often anymore. perhaps it was because the old birdhouse that grandpa built was just too old and weathered..just like grandpa was now that he was 84. Aged by wind , sun and rain,pelted by hail and hardened by ice and snow, the wren house had seen a lot of life. The wood was soft and easily crumbled.
s
We weathered the long and winding road all through the night, until we couldn’t feel our feet. They felt as if they had turned into bloody stumps, dripping wet red hot blood onto the cold hard ground.
weather, clouds rain gale sun frozzen snow umbrella raincoat wind fog
today was bad day it was snowing and my shoes was wet
it was also windy and there was no sun
i don’t like such weather
i feel depressed because of that
i want the end of winter
like rocks on the beach, sea shells in the oceans, the ground and nature all around us, including our souls and whats inside of us. because without noticing, everything is weathered by the people, influences and everything around us. its a natural process that can hahppen to anyone or anything
When I think of the word weathered I think of my roommate. We described ourselves as becoming weathered over these past few years because of our decrease in motivation as young people. Becoming old and beaten. Even though we are young.
i like weather cause i think summer is really fun and i like summer time and its warm not cold. its cool and i sure like summer and i think its really cool and in summer i sure like to go swimming and swimming is really fun and i sure like swimming summer time is the best and i sure like it and i have a lot of fun and i like it.
we are at the read, she said, sobbing. i knew she was talking about the seat, but she meant her dress, the one she loves best. and for some reason, I remembered the night I met her. Good God. She’s perfect.
i think of weathered means getting stuck on a basketball trip, last weekend we got weathered in at the buckland bash. We had to stay another night and we were the only team that got weathered in. Kivalina almostt got weathered in but they took off home. By the time we got home, we went straight to school. After school we had practice. Than we went to gym, after gym the weather got really bad. Than the next morning we had to stay home because the weather was really stormy from last night.
His hands are marked and wrinkled. His face is drooping and hairy. The hair on his head has changed colour completely. His body is weathered and old. My Grandpa lies in his hospital bed, and looks nothing like himself. Until he smiles.
it was a sunny day and we were out going for picnic when it started raining, but we decided not to go home so we stayed there playing under the fantastic rain!
There is a lot in this big old world that you will have to weather. No one will have to weather exactly the same things, but you will all have something. And these things, that seems horrible whenever they come around, are probably the best thing that will ever happen to you. You see, it’s how react to these obstacles that define who you are, and just make you a better person. (words of wisdom: BOSS STATUS ^.^)
torn, lustered, weathered in so many peices one wishesone can just give up. but one doesnt. he/she simple y goes on. thats all you can do. Life weathers you, you move on. You keep going till you don’t either lose the ability to go on or die.
he works late summers and early autumns out at sea, and she stays home to mind the blonde haired babies, and to twist her hands together like bent branches tangled up in a fence. every year, she wants to escape the narrow halls of the house, to live in an old, vine covered brick one with three stories made from dark, smelling wood. she would go up to the widow’s watch and look out at the sea beyond the houses to spot her husband’s boat, just a spec in the distance. as he came in with the tides, the same waves would wash over her and render her relieved.
but now in the narrow house that is squeezed beside others identical like it, in the 21st century, the blonde haired babies cry when the thunder eats up the sleeping silence, and she gasps when the lighting strobes. she waits for the call on the last day of his contract. she has no widows watch to peak out of, no clue if he is floating dead somewhere in the atlantic drift as the storm clouds press down. so she twists those hands together tightly until they’re red, but it doesn’t hurt. these hands have always weathered her.
and her husband weathers storms.
Old, broken down, sad, like you want to help it, but there is no way to help it. Upsetting. Cold, wet, snowy, or hot and burned. Weather vane. Lots of bad weather has happened on it. Trees, and things like that.
Though his face was youthful and radiant, his soul was intensely weathered~ you never quite knew how he held it together, like a shard of rock, clinging stubbornly to the home it had known for millennia, poised like a fledgling nervous of it’s first flight.
One more winter and he might crack, or he might cling on as the generations passed.
Old, broken down, sad, like you want to help it, but there is no way to help it. Upsetting. Cold, wet, snowy, or hot and burned. Weather vane.
m
m
His weathered cheeks crinkled as he laughed, and his blue eyes were full of life. He held the baby girl high above his head and swung her around. She was beautiful, like his daughter. He was proud to be a grandfather, and prouder still at the life created.
Old, broken down. Like it has been there for a long time. Weather vane. Wet, snowy, icy,cold, hot, burned.
She was weathered at the end of a long day. Her life was a series of long days that turned into short nights. Little her time, a lot of everyone elses’. She wished she could get out, but she couldn’t fight her path. Her goals. She would be there a while. But it came down to her, her drained nature and her dread for the next day. Her bed always beaconed her, but it also haunted her. It was alone, and so was she.
The weathered door swung on the breeze, it’s rusty hinges groaning with each movement. The dust in the foyer danced across the cracked floorboards. A storm was coming to the abandoned farmhouse, and with it, a new family was arriving. The house waited, on the prairie. The paneless windows stared blankly out into the clear night, waiting for the storm. The dust shushed across the foyer, the floorboards eroded by decades of rain and snow and wind and dust. Someone new was coming to the old farmhouse. And something old was waiting.
Soul is weathered. Body is used. Mind is gone. Sitting in the corner, with arms covered in sores. The voices in my head boom, snarl and claw away. It takes a fire hot liquid to sooth it all. I put it in my veins. I almost reach the gate to rest. But I fall again. My soul is worn. It’s wings have molted. I stay broken. I stay consumed.
I feel so beaten down all the time. Like I spend my life under this strong wind that is constantly trying to blow me away. No matter how hard I stand strong, bear my shoulders and fight against it, it still finds ways to win. Slowly, the wind still manages to wear me down, taking small pieces of me with each gust. Leaving me raw and weathered.
I always look inward before looking out.
My patience is weathered in storm cycle bouts.
Like lightening on the horizon, eventually the thunder will sound.
Measure the distance to find the perspective.
Retrospective is to foresight as thread is to needle.
The rocks along the shore were as weathered as her hands. She has spent the last week digging through the sand dunes, searching for the perfect sea shell. Today, she bends over her work diligently, almost like an ostrich burying its head in the sand. With a triumphant shout, she reaches into the grainy depths and produces a shimmering, iridescent shell, perfect and unharmed.
Over time you weather away, your core, your very center is rubbed away at the edges, by pain and loss and fear and even love, you are chipped away until all that’s left is sediment
Etched lines snake together, cracking. His face doesn’t change expression – hasn’t in years.
This is where hard skin meets an even harder soul.
He been broken before. He’s been beaten. How he’s still standing up today? He has no idea.
My flesh, once tight and taut now resembles that of an old book. Faded pages, weathered leather. It still feels soft, like rice paper. But it holds the ripples of experience. The waves of time. My smile has a collection of stories within each crease on my face. My eyes have crinkles like the paper fans I made as a child. My body is a ruin. A tribute to my life. Within this worn woman, are fresh visions.
The old man, weathered and worn. Sea blue eyes and deep wrinkles holding sand and salt and stories.
The door had been smashed in by an intruder some time in the past two hundred years. It was impossible to tell—the cabin was so weathered.
Whether the weather be hot
Whether the weather be cold
You weather the weather
Whatever the weather
Mother Earth, You’ll survive
We might not.
The man turned the book over in his weatherd hands. Faded words shone back at him on the old, cloth paper.
The back deck of my house. These days I’m scared to go out there – there’s always that part of me that fears things aren’t as strong as they appear. Like the wooden swingset in my backyard. I can feel it swaying beneath me, and I know its time is running thin.
The birds didnt come often anymore. perhaps it was because the old birdhouse that grandpa built was just too old and weathered..just like grandpa was now that he was 84. Aged by wind , sun and rain,pelted by hail and hardened by ice and snow, the wren house had seen a lot of life. The wood was soft and easily crumbled.
s
We weathered the long and winding road all through the night, until we couldn’t feel our feet. They felt as if they had turned into bloody stumps, dripping wet red hot blood onto the cold hard ground.
weather, clouds rain gale sun frozzen snow umbrella raincoat wind fog
today was bad day it was snowing and my shoes was wet
it was also windy and there was no sun
i don’t like such weather
i feel depressed because of that
i want the end of winter
like rocks on the beach, sea shells in the oceans, the ground and nature all around us, including our souls and whats inside of us. because without noticing, everything is weathered by the people, influences and everything around us. its a natural process that can hahppen to anyone or anything
warn. battered. When you’ve stood in the wind all day and your hair feels a strange texture. Un-kept. Lost. Wind. Rain. Lost.
i an so weathered from the stresses of life that i can literally feel the pressure of the world around me eroding my body and mind.
When I think of the word weathered I think of my roommate. We described ourselves as becoming weathered over these past few years because of our decrease in motivation as young people. Becoming old and beaten. Even though we are young.
i like weather cause i think summer is really fun and i like summer time and its warm not cold. its cool and i sure like summer and i think its really cool and in summer i sure like to go swimming and swimming is really fun and i sure like swimming summer time is the best and i sure like it and i have a lot of fun and i like it.
we are at the read, she said, sobbing. i knew she was talking about the seat, but she meant her dress, the one she loves best. and for some reason, I remembered the night I met her. Good God. She’s perfect.
i think of weathered means getting stuck on a basketball trip, last weekend we got weathered in at the buckland bash. We had to stay another night and we were the only team that got weathered in. Kivalina almostt got weathered in but they took off home. By the time we got home, we went straight to school. After school we had practice. Than we went to gym, after gym the weather got really bad. Than the next morning we had to stay home because the weather was really stormy from last night.
The rocks are weathered from the constrast pounding of water flowing. There was the weatjering down of the rocks that made a the rocks looks like.
The old man’s weathered face cracked as the sand blew into his eyes.
Weathered is, like eroded. The rock got weathered, or a cold, or storm. Example, they got weathered in that city.
I really like playing out or riding around but its all kinda depends on the weather because i really dont wanna get sick because i have school.
His hands are marked and wrinkled. His face is drooping and hairy. The hair on his head has changed colour completely. His body is weathered and old. My Grandpa lies in his hospital bed, and looks nothing like himself. Until he smiles.
it was a sunny day and we were out going for picnic when it started raining, but we decided not to go home so we stayed there playing under the fantastic rain!
There is a lot in this big old world that you will have to weather. No one will have to weather exactly the same things, but you will all have something. And these things, that seems horrible whenever they come around, are probably the best thing that will ever happen to you. You see, it’s how react to these obstacles that define who you are, and just make you a better person. (words of wisdom: BOSS STATUS ^.^)