Did I ever tell you I like reading mysteries or watching crime programs? It must be trying to figure out the answer which holds my attention. Like working in clay really. Since I studied psychology in college, unraveling the workings of the mind also keeps my interest. Last night I was watching Criminal Minds and they used a quote of Emily Dickinson about hope and it stuck with me, so I thought I'd reprint the poem here for you to read. It was the first four lines which were quoted.
Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune--without the words,
And never stops at all,
And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.
I've heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.
Here's some larger and deeper vine bowls drying, cereal or salad size. Sorry the lighting isn't the greatest this early in the morning, but these will look much better glazed anyway. Thanks for reading and for all your comments.