I am cold, I have been cold for a long time now it seems. Because of the high cost of heating these days we do not turn the thermostat above 68 degrees Fahrenheit. So that's the temperature at the thermostat, but it is a whole colder in the rest of the house - as our insulation is terrible (if existent at all). We do not have a fireplace - so that's not an option. I work from home, meaning there really isn't any relief from the cold unless I go out. And you know what that would involve... getting into a COLD car.
Okay, I'm really whining now - I recognize that. I am a California girl - I never knew 'weather' until about 5 years ago. I also know it could be a whole lot worse, so I'll shut up about it now.
If you're still reading, thanks for indulging me in that little 'fit'. Just know that while I beaded up this square for my January Bead Journal Project, I was never warm - not for one single bead. I was, however, dreaming of blue skies and warm breezes. I know it's not that far away now. The thought of that possibility AND green grass makes me positively giddy!
As with all the other pieces for the second year of the project, it is 3 inches x 3 inches. Here's the back for those that love to see the stitching. Images are 'clickable' for a larger view.
A few of you have asked about the black lines in each piece - that part of my project will be revealed once all the pieces are complete.
Leaves of Grass
This is what you shall do: Love the earth and sun and the animals, despise riches, give alms to every one that asks, stand up for the stupid and crazy, devote your income and labor to others, hate tyrants, argue not concerning God, have patience and indulgence toward the people, take off your hat to nothing known or unknown or to any man or number of men, go freely with powerful uneducated persons and with the young and with the mothers of families, read these leaves in the open air every season of every year of your life, re-examine all you have been told at school or church or in any book, dismiss whatever insults your own soul, and your very flesh shall be a great poem and have the richest fluency not only in its words but in the silent lines of its lips and face and between the lashes of your eyes and in every motion and joint of your body - Walt Whitman