Word: flowerings
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...TAPESTRIES, edited by Joseph Jobe. 278 pages. Edita, S.A. $22.50. In medieval times, tapestries were functional: they hid the bleak stone expanses of chateau walls, and their woolen thickness helped keep out the cold. But utility can lead to art, and the art of weaving came to its finest flower in the textured murals that are sumptuously spread through these pages with such fidelity that the beholder wants to touch them. The book's first three sections explore the history of tapestry weaving, a history still being written by those-among them...
...partners, he bought the pit and converted it into a private dump, charging $8 per load. To appease neighbors' noses, he covered each day's refuse with a layer of earth. To screen the mess from passersby, he built a bamboo fence, planted the border with floodlit flower beds and palm trees. When finished, the area looked so little like a dump that he had to put up a huge sign saying "Disposal Gardens" to convince befuddled truckers that they were at the right place...
Outside of maple leaves and football, the best thing about autumn is that you don't have to worry about hay fever any more. Especially if you live in Nebraska, where goldenrod is the state flower. There aren't many maples in Nebraska, and there wasn't much big-time football - give or take a season or so - until a paunchy, puffy-eyed Irish man named Bob Devaney took over as head coach at the University of Nebraska...
...clear, and behind the face the clouds of heaven rolled majestically across the world." A blaze of sunlight sparkles on the water. "He entered the sun's sparkle and drank. Mineral and cold as a prairie river, the water bathed his heart. He felt himself open like a flower." That night he built an enormous fire to inform the universe that he was there, to announce anew the Creation...
There were two frisbies, gifts from some admirers, that lay on a table. One had a flower and Miss Travers' name painted on it. She had her typewriter out, along with a dictaphone. But there was little else. The strong-fibered, slightly aging woman who had greeted me at the door was obviously doing some writing--it was impossible to guess what--and she wasn't about to tell anyone...