we were weaving.
weaving good bye.
it has become pretty usual in this city.
good bye that means if it gets better, maybe, someday..
we will see each other again.
Estefanía
we were near the pool.
weaving good bye for 8 time this year.
we would never see them again.
them, my friends.
Estefanía
She sat cross legged in front of the big loom weaving in the morning sun.The sun glistened through her hair and she hummed with the breeze.
She sat her on her chair with her needles in hand. This chair held so many memories for her. Holding her first child, her second, and each of their children as she rocked them back and forth. Making clothing for her family, and even telling stories by the fire at Christmas.
Hondo
Weaving through seagrass
in moonlit shallows
he makes a new home
in foreign glass
mysterious and marvellous
he is
this tiny octopus.
She was a weaver of fate, capable of making and breaking ties that people didn’t even realize that they had yet. Problem was, as she was focused on building others lives up, she was slowly crumbling into dust , soon to be nothing but a whisper in a crowded room.
bree
weaving the fates was never much of a problem for her. the problem was dealing with the consequences of ruining people whom she didnt even knows lives, even if she intended to build them right back up.
bree
her horse was racing around the cones on the rodio floor weaving and twisting going so fast it apeared to be a brown tornado.
bree
In and out of traffic of the day. Navigating lanes and ramps as well as inclines and declines. Dealing with incessant tailgaters and creeping drivers with horns and sideways looks
Eric
Dressed in native attire of feather headdresses and seed-leggings called “chachayotls” Aztec dancers take the hands of incarcerated men and begin weaving a story to the beat of the sacred drum.
Weaving a thread of kindness, weaving another thread of understanding, these incarcerated men begin breaking the chains imprisoning their hearts, souls and minds. Soon these threads vibrate with warmth from hearts beginning to open, as cautious smiles burst into laughter. These vibrating threads merging together, are weaving a beautiful new fabric –called- “Friendship Dance”
Dressed in native attire of feather headdresses and seed-leggings called “chachayotls” Aztec dancers take the hands of incarcerated men and begin weaving a story to the beat of the sacred drum.
Weaving a thread of kindness, weaving another thread of understanding, these incarcerated men begin breaking the chains imprisoning their hearts, souls and minds. Soon these threads vibrate with warmth from hearts beginning to open, as cautious smiles burst into laughter. These vibrating threads merging together, are weaving a beautiful new fabric –called- “Friendship Dance”
Weaving, both a hobby and a movement. Funnily enough the hobby is remarkably dull while the image of a bird weaving to and fro between the trees of a dense jungle creates much excitement. Aren’t homophones funny.
Adam Dickson
weaving reminds me of traditional pratices. like looms in sleeping beauty or those intricate contraptions connected by light wood and strings that have pedals to switch up the pattern. tapestries
fran
Gold thread, silver thread, she weaves the stars through the sky and leaves midnight silk hovering in thin air.
She is the goddess that breathes words from her frosted lips and he is the mortal that stands on the debased floor and looks up, always worshipping and always devoted.
Their fates weave together like two star crossed lovers, but it’s different because she has never loved him and he never will stop doing so.
we were weaving.
weaving good bye.
it has become pretty usual in this city.
good bye that means if it gets better, maybe, someday..
we will see each other again.
we were near the pool.
weaving good bye for 8 time this year.
we would never see them again.
them, my friends.
She sat cross legged in front of the big loom weaving in the morning sun.The sun glistened through her hair and she hummed with the breeze.
She sat her on her chair with her needles in hand. This chair held so many memories for her. Holding her first child, her second, and each of their children as she rocked them back and forth. Making clothing for her family, and even telling stories by the fire at Christmas.
Weaving through seagrass
in moonlit shallows
he makes a new home
in foreign glass
mysterious and marvellous
he is
this tiny octopus.
She was a weaver of fate, capable of making and breaking ties that people didn’t even realize that they had yet. Problem was, as she was focused on building others lives up, she was slowly crumbling into dust , soon to be nothing but a whisper in a crowded room.
weaving the fates was never much of a problem for her. the problem was dealing with the consequences of ruining people whom she didnt even knows lives, even if she intended to build them right back up.
her horse was racing around the cones on the rodio floor weaving and twisting going so fast it apeared to be a brown tornado.
In and out of traffic of the day. Navigating lanes and ramps as well as inclines and declines. Dealing with incessant tailgaters and creeping drivers with horns and sideways looks
Dressed in native attire of feather headdresses and seed-leggings called “chachayotls” Aztec dancers take the hands of incarcerated men and begin weaving a story to the beat of the sacred drum.
Weaving a thread of kindness, weaving another thread of understanding, these incarcerated men begin breaking the chains imprisoning their hearts, souls and minds. Soon these threads vibrate with warmth from hearts beginning to open, as cautious smiles burst into laughter. These vibrating threads merging together, are weaving a beautiful new fabric –called- “Friendship Dance”
Dressed in native attire of feather headdresses and seed-leggings called “chachayotls” Aztec dancers take the hands of incarcerated men and begin weaving a story to the beat of the sacred drum.
Weaving a thread of kindness, weaving another thread of understanding, these incarcerated men begin breaking the chains imprisoning their hearts, souls and minds. Soon these threads vibrate with warmth from hearts beginning to open, as cautious smiles burst into laughter. These vibrating threads merging together, are weaving a beautiful new fabric –called- “Friendship Dance”
Weaving, both a hobby and a movement. Funnily enough the hobby is remarkably dull while the image of a bird weaving to and fro between the trees of a dense jungle creates much excitement. Aren’t homophones funny.
weaving reminds me of traditional pratices. like looms in sleeping beauty or those intricate contraptions connected by light wood and strings that have pedals to switch up the pattern. tapestries
Gold thread, silver thread, she weaves the stars through the sky and leaves midnight silk hovering in thin air.
She is the goddess that breathes words from her frosted lips and he is the mortal that stands on the debased floor and looks up, always worshipping and always devoted.
Their fates weave together like two star crossed lovers, but it’s different because she has never loved him and he never will stop doing so.