Alchemy

Not just with bulky metals
But something much more dear
 How they can turn Hate into Love
And make Joy out of Fear

 Turn the weight of boredom
Into anticipation
Turn the lead of anger
Into golden expectation

it is al work for the Alchemy course 

Two times in one

A quilt made for the challenge,, de Kracht van moeder aarde  ,, and at the same time for colors of Africa

Mother Nature

© Edith A. Phinazee

Our world is always changing,
Constantly re-arranging.
From ocean depths to mountain peaks,
Mother Nature moves and speaks.
While telling stories of our past
She tries to teach us how to last.
Mankind, so smart, sometimes blind
Leaves common sense far behind.
We're moving fast and living large,
Forgetting she's the one in charge.
Amazed when she rings our bell,
Sending us through living hell.
She can twist our steel, shake any city,
If her wrath you feel, we shall pity.
Yet some who speak on her behalf,
I fear just seek the golden calf.
It's true, we must treat her right.
Or we will incur a deadly plight.
Treat her with distinction
Or surely face extinction!

lets go

Come Fairies,
take me out of this dull world,
for I would ride with you
upon the wind and dance
upon the mountains like a flame.


W.B. Yeats

Still going

Tell me of the alchemists
And the story that is told
Of how it is that they have learned
To turn lead into gold

Try ,Try Again

'Tis a lesson you should heed,
If at first you don't succeed,
Try, try again;

Then your courage should appear,
For if you will persevere,
You will conquer, never fear
Try, try again;

Once or twice, though you should fail,
If you would at last prevail,
Try, try again;

If we strive, 'tis no disgrace
Though we do not win the race;
What should you do in the case?
Try, try again

If you find your task is hard,
Time will bring you your reward,
Try, try again

All that other folks can do,
Why, with patience, should not you?
Only keep this rule in view:
Try, try again.

Woman at work

for the Alchemy class given by Karen Ruane

Design

I found a dimpled spider, fat and white,
On a white heal-all, holding up a moth
Like a white piece of rigid satin cloth --
Assorted characters of death and blight
Mixed ready to begin the morning right,
Like the ingredients of a witches' broth --
A snow-drop spider, a flower like a froth,
And dead wings carried like a paper kite.

What had that flower to do with being white,
The wayside blue and innocent heal-all?
What brought the kindred spider to that height,
Then steered the white moth thither in the night?
What but design of darkness to appall?--
If design govern in a thing so small.

Robert Frost