Crafting stash

I was recently given this lovely little box of goodies.
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Knowing my love for old craft materials, a friend of my mothers kindly donated it.
Inside, first I found all this wool.
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Then these wonderful spools of thread (wooden of course)
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This lovely pack of needles
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They were rather well packed…
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And finally, these strange needles. If anyone knows what they are designed for please notify me. My guess would be for something flat like upholstery that you would need a curved needle to go through.
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Swirled wire ring

This ring is very easy to make, it is adjustable, only made with two short pieces of wire,and of course it is very pretty. I found it in a beading magazine.

 

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Time Machine

This is a poem I wrote for a school poetry competition on the theme ‘Time Machine’. The results have not yet been decided. (I got second prize)

Down in the valley I found a time machine
Its face was cracked and worn, a weathered eye of green
I walked all around it, stepped over its long roots,
Bursting out of the earth, sprouting fresh new shoots.

I pressed my hand to its skin, heard the river chime
It ran away, away through time
Time that often runs away,
Always flowing, throughout the day.

Through the river, thoughts flew,
Like clouds in the wind when the breeze blew.
My mind spread, around the sky,
With the birds, soaring high.

I ran to the hills, long ago,
To see the sun rise through the snow.
It pulled me back, back to the start,
Where the silence ate into my heart.

So I went back home to the trees ,
To see if I could find the keys.
Into the centre of this space,
The path into another place.

I tried to see into my mind,
Pulled apart the past entwined.
To check if I had been before,
At the entrance to this door.

I saw myself, young and small,
Before my tears began to fall.
I sat up there, on that long limb,
A slender branch, small and slim.

I had touched the skin, of this life,
Before it all fell into strife.
I place my hand into my head,
Now all memories, that once had fled.

Now I fall to the base of the machine,
It’s pulling me down, down to the green.
I lie there, among the roots,
Resting on the fresh new shoots.

I will know the way of the land,
The time machine will be in my hand.
Every day I will come to you,
The olden tree, the one who knew.