lappiesland: My klerekas

Friday, March 5, 2010

My klerekas

'n Foto wat ek al 'n ruk terug al geneem het om my nuwe (nie meer so nuut) hemp af te show. My eerste self-gemaakte kragie-hemp. Daar is dae wat ek amper heeltemal uitgetooi is in self-klere, en dan voel ek heel trots op my Bernina Majien wat so baie gekos het om reg te maak, en wat se liggie nog steeds nie werk nie. Ek dink soms dit sal so lekker wees om my moeder hier te he oor so vakansitjie om resepte en patrone mee uit te ruil, en lekker stuff mee te maak... dalk moet julle almal maar 'n uittog na die Noorde maak in Junie?

Julle wat nie die wereld deur gaan hol of reis nie...

1 comment:

marti.vandendoolMarch 13, 2010 at 6:25 AM
Mooi hemp! Jy mag maar trots wees. Maar jy het my so mooi geleer om te smile vir fotos, en dan lyk jy so ernstig! :) Jou Moeder.
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The lost chord

I sat alone at the organ, At the close of a troubled day, When the sunset's crimson embers On the western altar lay. I was weary with vain endeavour, My heart was ill at ease, And I sought to soothe my sadness With the voice of the sweet-toned keys. My hands were weak and trembling My fingers all unskilled, To render the grand old anthem With which my soul was filled. Trough the long day's cares and worries, I had dreamed of that glorious strain, And I longed to hear the organ Repeat it to me again. It fell from mine untaught fingers Discordant and incomplete, I knew not how to express it, Or to make the discord sweet; So I toiled with patient labor Till the last bright gleams were gone, And the evening's purple shadows Were gathering one by one. Then, a Master stood beside me, And touched the noisy keys, And lo! the discord vanished And melted in perfect peace. I heard the great organ pealing My tune that I could not play, The strains of the glorious anthem That had filled my soul all day. Down through the dim cathedral The tide of music swept, And through the shadowy arches The lingering echoes crept; And I stood in the purple twilight And heard my tune again -Not my feeble, untaught rendering, But the Master's perfect strain. So I think, perchance, the Master, At the close of life's weary day, Will take from our trembling fingers The tune that we cannot play; He will hear through the jarring discord The strain, although half expressed; He will blend it all in perfect music, And add to it all the rest.-

Uit The Realm of Spirits: Hugo van den Dool