"You're more poet than anything." I folded my arms and glared at Ian. He sat perched on the edge of the roof, dressed like an adventurer. I coveted every part of his outfit -- the breezy shirt made of course cloth, the sturdy breeches, the leather boots that laced up to his calves, the dagger on his hip. Tomorrow he would set sail to a life I craved more than anything. But did he appreciate his opportunities? No. And I hated him for it. "Do you despise poets, Ingrid?" His voice was sad, but a grin twisted at the corners of his mouth as he finished his question. Those blue eyes of his cut in my direction with a teasing flash. "They don't DO anything." My thoughts and emotions ran in torrents, but I could see his flowing smoothly and quietly. Even in his uneasiness about the morrow, his face was a peaceful as a child falling asleep in his own bed. ...
It is! It's bright and cheery. I do some weaving myself, but more patterns - I don't know how to make pictures! So, good on you!
ReplyDeleteIt's beautiful!
ReplyDelete~Anna
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Wow!! That's amazing!!
ReplyDeleteLovely! I've never tried my hand at such large scale weaving but it looks like fun.
ReplyDeleteJessica and Janie, that's so cool that y'all have both done some weaving, too. It IS fun. :)
ReplyDelete