ive had this word like 3 times! um when your in the wild weaving can help you make a shelter. You can make baskets out of plant leaves. i learned that from bear grylls. is weaving what native americans did?
The tortuous path weaved left and right throughout the golden field. The girl smiled as she watched memories from her childhood come into light. It was beautiful and perfect. She laughed and cried as she thought of all the blessings that she was leaving behind.
I want to weave a bookmark like the one I weaved at a mill when I was a child – twice. Weave makes me think of hair weave, a woven basket, summer… it’a a name. Knitting. Weaving paper together at primary school. Hay.
I would love to learn how to weave an amazing basket. Not any normal basket mind you, but one with a story, one with a past, present, and future. This basket would not be of any one color, but of a thousand colors It would be a basket to be admired and adored, and a basket with a legacy. It would be a basket that would be passed down from generation to generation. It would be a
I want to weave a bookmark like the one I weaved at a mill when I was a child – twice. Weave makes me think of hair weave, a woven basket, summer… it’a a name. Knitting. Weaving paper together at primary school. Hay.
we all try and weave our way into society because we fear of becoming an “outsider”. we want to be in with the crowd so we do whatever it is to be accepted by them..but sometimes we realize it’s not worth going through all the crap and drama. so we sit and think about how being an outsider maybe isn’t so bad at all.
The threads link together smoothly, seams disappearing, colours blurring, becoming whole. She sits calmly, her fingers always moving, dragging the unwilling individuals into the required pattern.
we all want to fit in. we do what we can to be accepted by our peers, society, our parents; everyone. and so weave ourselves into other people lives to be “in” with them. we do whatever it is to be accepted, whatever is necessary. we’re afraid of becoming the outsider.
Mexico, 1978, Sofia is creating a dress of beauty. The annual village festival is approaching and with a boy to impress, she sets herself a challenge of being la reina de la fiesta.
Weaving is what independent Nepalese do. They make lots of clothes and export it to other countries. My grandmom knows how to weave. She weaves sweaters for us and for kids. She weaves many designs as well. Weaving is wonderful. It’s an example of human creativity.
I want to weave my hair together to make a braid. I’ve seen old women in my village weave the vines together. I only wish that I can make a braid as thick and beautiful as theirs. The hair won’t move, it’s thick and course. I can’t bend it, I can’t weave it. My hands won’t move, my head won’t move, I’m paralyzed.
I weave my thoughts through my head. They go on and on with neverending love for anyone and everything. I love my world. To weave my thoughts into a book. to make everything right in this world. I want to do these things. I do not have enough time. I want the world to stop just for a moment. That moment of peace and solitude to be mine forever.
Weave. Again. She stared at the screen and wondered. What could she possible do? The word was simple. It spoken nothing to her but letters she could read as clear as day. That was all she could do. Stare at the screen.
She used to weave her way through his life. He never stopped her. They way she would glide was amazing to him. He let her weave her way through his life and he loved her for that.
Weaving in and out on rollerskates, between cars and lampposts, Julie never dreamed she’d ever be using this skill for any practical, exciting reason. She clutched the bag of money in her hand, keeping the other for balance, and sped on.
to weave means almost to knit I think, but im not actually sure. theres also such thing as a weaver which sounds similar to weave but has nothing to do with knitting, rather it is a bird. I think it sings songs but im not actually sure.
I weave in and out of the local streets. Nothing moves me more than that. Seeing the faces, and the places I’ve been. These streets are my life, the weave is my only movement. That’s all I can do, all I can say. It’s the only thing that matters anymore. The lights of the city have never shined brighter than the night I walked away from it. It’s real. It’s significant.
I sat there, dumbfounded, as they wove their fingers in and out of the harp’s strings. How I wanted to join them. But there is no way a paralyzed girl could play harp.
I sat behind the cloth, woven from the hair of all the men they had killed. What a gruesome idea. But it was a cloth woven of victory, so it was all “ok.” I suppose as long as it made the King happy, it was good.
Weave the word into your heart. Allow it to become your driving force in what eve you do. Do not be afraid of what others will think, do and be who he has callled you to be. Listen to the leading that happens through the weaving. You are not alone on this jounprney. The truth is that the word of God is active in your life because it became flesh and dwelt among the people thousand sof years ago. The word walked and talked before you were weaving it into your body soul and mind.
She wanted to weave him a picture, of everything he was saying, of everything he was worth. He was a straight up asshole, and she just wanted him to understand that.
baskets, interwine, my mind weaves my thoughts my thought weave my dreams flow in the ocean weaves will weaving in the sand. We become one. Weaved in time.
weave. i imagine old ladies, from and indian tribe, sitting at a lake, weaving baskets. I imagine them hearing the wind and feeling a cold breeze. they har their grandchildren are playing in the woods and they think back to when they were young.
I weave in and out, to and fro. I feel sea sick from the changes you keep throwing at me. O can’t keep straight what’s what. Your emotions make no sense and I’m stuck on this rollar coaster because I love you. I love that you make me crazy even though it’s insane.
we sat together, in those hard backed wooden chairs. and spun golden thread. you spoke to me as you slipped it through your fingers, trying to impart life lessons on me. you wanted to teach me about the world, before you couldn’t answer my questions anymore.
i like weaving. My mother weaves cloths for me. My friends had joined weaving classes. But i dnt need them because i already know how to weave. Monika has a nice weaved sweater.
i don not like weaving much..i used to like weave miuch,.my mom like weaving,i wish i like it more.but i don know wether i will be able to do it again.
ive had this word like 3 times! um when your in the wild weaving can help you make a shelter. You can make baskets out of plant leaves. i learned that from bear grylls. is weaving what native americans did?
Why can’t people recognize depression in this world. Why can’t they get themselves help. DEPRESSION IS A COMMON ILLNESS. Never be ashamed of it.
The tortuous path weaved left and right throughout the golden field. The girl smiled as she watched memories from her childhood come into light. It was beautiful and perfect. She laughed and cried as she thought of all the blessings that she was leaving behind.
A textured thread, palm leaves, wool. Women in bight coloured head scarfs making baskets, old ladies on sewing machines making ponchos.
I want to weave a bookmark like the one I weaved at a mill when I was a child – twice. Weave makes me think of hair weave, a woven basket, summer… it’a a name. Knitting. Weaving paper together at primary school. Hay.
I would love to learn how to weave an amazing basket. Not any normal basket mind you, but one with a story, one with a past, present, and future. This basket would not be of any one color, but of a thousand colors It would be a basket to be admired and adored, and a basket with a legacy. It would be a basket that would be passed down from generation to generation. It would be a
I want to weave a bookmark like the one I weaved at a mill when I was a child – twice. Weave makes me think of hair weave, a woven basket, summer… it’a a name. Knitting. Weaving paper together at primary school. Hay.
To intertwine, to make something into two. To gain more than lost. To swirl and glide together smoothly.
we all try and weave our way into society because we fear of becoming an “outsider”. we want to be in with the crowd so we do whatever it is to be accepted by them..but sometimes we realize it’s not worth going through all the crap and drama. so we sit and think about how being an outsider maybe isn’t so bad at all.
The threads link together smoothly, seams disappearing, colours blurring, becoming whole. She sits calmly, her fingers always moving, dragging the unwilling individuals into the required pattern.
we all want to fit in. we do what we can to be accepted by our peers, society, our parents; everyone. and so weave ourselves into other people lives to be “in” with them. we do whatever it is to be accepted, whatever is necessary. we’re afraid of becoming the outsider.
Mexico, 1978, Sofia is creating a dress of beauty. The annual village festival is approaching and with a boy to impress, she sets herself a challenge of being la reina de la fiesta.
Where I grew up, I sat on a mat – a woven straw mat the color of sand that would scratch at your bum every time you moved.
In and out up and down, under and over.
Over the top under the bottom round the back
Weaving is what independent Nepalese do. They make lots of clothes and export it to other countries. My grandmom knows how to weave. She weaves sweaters for us and for kids. She weaves many designs as well. Weaving is wonderful. It’s an example of human creativity.
Her dreams were unraveling,
undoing,
the girl desperately clasped them,
and tried,
to weave them
back together again.
I want to weave my hair together to make a braid. I’ve seen old women in my village weave the vines together. I only wish that I can make a braid as thick and beautiful as theirs. The hair won’t move, it’s thick and course. I can’t bend it, I can’t weave it. My hands won’t move, my head won’t move, I’m paralyzed.
I weave my thoughts through my head. They go on and on with neverending love for anyone and everything. I love my world. To weave my thoughts into a book. to make everything right in this world. I want to do these things. I do not have enough time. I want the world to stop just for a moment. That moment of peace and solitude to be mine forever.
sea
I’m truly sick of weaving my way through this. If it would just touch then, I could simmer to the surface. Let me simmer.
Weave. Again. She stared at the screen and wondered. What could she possible do? The word was simple. It spoken nothing to her but letters she could read as clear as day. That was all she could do. Stare at the screen.
She used to weave her way through his life. He never stopped her. They way she would glide was amazing to him. He let her weave her way through his life and he loved her for that.
Weaving in and out on rollerskates, between cars and lampposts, Julie never dreamed she’d ever be using this skill for any practical, exciting reason. She clutched the bag of money in her hand, keeping the other for balance, and sped on.
to weave means almost to knit I think, but im not actually sure. theres also such thing as a weaver which sounds similar to weave but has nothing to do with knitting, rather it is a bird. I think it sings songs but im not actually sure.
I weave in and out of the local streets. Nothing moves me more than that. Seeing the faces, and the places I’ve been. These streets are my life, the weave is my only movement. That’s all I can do, all I can say. It’s the only thing that matters anymore. The lights of the city have never shined brighter than the night I walked away from it. It’s real. It’s significant.
I sat there, dumbfounded, as they wove their fingers in and out of the harp’s strings. How I wanted to join them. But there is no way a paralyzed girl could play harp.
I sat behind the cloth, woven from the hair of all the men they had killed. What a gruesome idea. But it was a cloth woven of victory, so it was all “ok.” I suppose as long as it made the King happy, it was good.
she weaved in and out of the crowf trying to fit
in somewhere here wasnt going to be easy
Weave the word into your heart. Allow it to become your driving force in what eve you do. Do not be afraid of what others will think, do and be who he has callled you to be. Listen to the leading that happens through the weaving. You are not alone on this jounprney. The truth is that the word of God is active in your life because it became flesh and dwelt among the people thousand sof years ago. The word walked and talked before you were weaving it into your body soul and mind.
She wanted to weave him a picture, of everything he was saying, of everything he was worth. He was a straight up asshole, and she just wanted him to understand that.
baskets, interwine, my mind weaves my thoughts my thought weave my dreams flow in the ocean weaves will weaving in the sand. We become one. Weaved in time.
Weave a web. Weave a song. Weave a coat on a loom. The thing they have in common is that they are woven. The end.
Destroying the homes of a million people never sounded so rational. White women thought it’s alwayls been the case. why stop now?
birds in Namibia
weave. i imagine old ladies, from and indian tribe, sitting at a lake, weaving baskets. I imagine them hearing the wind and feeling a cold breeze. they har their grandchildren are playing in the woods and they think back to when they were young.
I weave in and out, to and fro. I feel sea sick from the changes you keep throwing at me. O can’t keep straight what’s what. Your emotions make no sense and I’m stuck on this rollar coaster because I love you. I love that you make me crazy even though it’s insane.
we sat together, in those hard backed wooden chairs. and spun golden thread. you spoke to me as you slipped it through your fingers, trying to impart life lessons on me. you wanted to teach me about the world, before you couldn’t answer my questions anymore.
i like weaving. My mother weaves cloths for me. My friends had joined weaving classes. But i dnt need them because i already know how to weave. Monika has a nice weaved sweater.
i don not like weaving much..i used to like weave miuch,.my mom like weaving,i wish i like it more.but i don know wether i will be able to do it again.
my hair ratched, cannot be. i love weave tho. it doesnt make me. im cute. most guys repsond to me more with weave in. i can never abandon natural