HOW THICK IS CARPET - PERSIAN RUG GUIDE - KARASTAN RUGS.COM
How Thick Is Carpet
- rug: floor covering consisting of a piece of thick heavy fabric (usually with nap or pile)
- cover completely, as if with a carpet; "flowers carpeted the meadows"
- A floor or stair covering made from thick woven fabric, typically shaped to fit a particular room
- A large rug, typically an oriental one
- form a carpet-like cover (over)
- A thick or soft expanse or layer of something
- midst: the location of something surrounded by other things; "in the midst of the crowd"
- In or with deep, dense, or heavy mass
- thickly: with a thick consistency; "the blood was flowing thick"
- having component parts closely crowded together; "a compact shopping center"; "a dense population"; "thick crowds"; "a thick forest"; "thick hair"
Lion Brand Yarn 640-502B Wool-Ease Thick & Quick Yarn, Mesquite
Wool-Ease Thick and Quick is
the super bulky member of the Wool-Ease family; Perfect for extra warm sweaters, jackets, vests, slippers and hats; It's an ideal beginner yarn; Solids, Heathers, Twis
ts: 80-Percent Acrylic, 20-Percent Wool; Oatmeal, Barley, Grey Marble, Wheat: 86-Percent Acrylic, 10-Percent Wool, 4-Percent Rayon; It has the feel, warmth and softness of wool with the easy care of acrylic; Machine wash; Initial water temperature should not exceed 40C or 105F; Dry Clean, any solvent; No bleach product may be used; A machine dryer may be regularly used at the hottest available temperature setting; Item may not be smoothed or finished with an iron; Weight Category: 6 Super Bulky: Bulky, Roving Yarn; 6-Ounce (170 g), 106 yd (97 m); Each skein measures approximately 8-1/2 by 3-3/4 by 3-3/4-Inch
From a recent journalling moment....
For days we hiked at the base of a valley, carved by receded glaciers and filled with turquoise lakes, thick with evergreens, and stretching into a maze of cirques and hidden swaths of alpine meadows. Every glance in every direction seemed to yield a stunning view. Vibrant arrays of wildflowers carpeted the valley floor and looking down, the photographer in me was tempted to capture bright speckles of purples, yellows, and reds that filled the green meadows. Waterfalls were common, often in unexpected places. We would round each bend without knowing what sight would unfold before us and when greeted by the surprise of a 100 foot fall of pounding glacial water, we would pause for lunch and photos. We would sit, sometimes in silence, soaking in this unique environment. Jagged peaks would meet the horizon like perfectly aligned puzzle pieces and I couldn't help remaining amazed that, day after day, no matter where I looked, one foot away, one hundred feet away, or thousands of feet into the distance, I was greeted by sensational reminders that I was no longer within my element.
But I do not want to try to recreate that on film. I can't imagine that it would be possible. With words or images, I can't even come close. The place speaks for itself. And to see it, listen to it, or feel it as it truly is, one has to go there. But the temptation to try and capture something here was strong. Ultimately, I know that I could shoot my digital camera in just about any direction and something of interest was sure to burn it's way onto my sd card. But that isn't why I like to take pictures.
I've said before that my favorite place to shoot is my home town of Portland. I love looking over the streams of local photographers and seeing remnants of the city that I wander through every day. The shots that make me smile are the ones that capture something in a way that I would never have seen. I feel like I am looking, not only at a section of my home town, but at a photographers vision. A vision that isn't my own. So when a contact posts a section of a concrete wall, with a broken window, and I realize that I know the location but hadn't ever stopped to appreciate that particular element of it, well, that makes me smile.
I like to think about the conversations that I have with my cameras. Not to personify (but I suppose I do), but there is a tremendous difference between a $40 piece of plastic from Hong Kong, a cheap TLR from Russia, and a small wooden box with a hole. All can accept the same visible elements but generate dramatically different results. The film I choose joins in the conversation, adding or subtracting contrast, vibrance, or color. As I learn more about each camera, and each type of film, I learn more about how
each instrument will enter into the conversation. But I don't think I will ever know the results of the conversations until I see the final image, often weeks later.
And hiking through Glacier, these things that I love about photography remain true. I love the conversations. I love the way that each instrument will decide, with some input on my part as well, what elements to extract from a given scene. There is no such thing as capturing reality on film. It's been said before, but photography never tells “the truth” about a subject. I can't capture the scene that I see stretched in front of me. And quite frankly, I don't want to. I can see it just fine without the camera. If I am going to trip the shutter, then I want to bring an interpretation into the image. It doesn't have to be unique, but it has to be something about my own experience in this place.
One Saturday afternoon, I decided to stop by a forest by my house. I have been meaning to venture in for a while but never made the time.
I parked my car and started forth on a wide path covered with scattered leaves. Tall, towering birch and oak trees stood surrounding me, their leaves the most vibrant yellows and soft greens. It was pretty close to perfect. All I needed was a walking stick and I was on my way through Middle Earth.
A few more yards into my journey, a pile of large logs presented themselves, and after looking them over, I found a nice, sturdy one with the least amount of moss and fungi. I pressed it into the ground, balanced my weight to test it out, and, when I found it satisfactory, carried myself across and continued on my way.
A tiny hill took me past the outskirts of the woods, and there I became covered in color. Sunlight gleamed through the canopy, casting prisms of rays through the burning leaves. Wind rustled through the forest, sending many leaves flying around me. I watched them dance to the ground, carpeting the path even thicker. This truly is God’s glory, I thought. Better yet, this is God Himself. I wandered into the cluster of this creation, winding through twists and admiring the fairy-like element. But I was so preoccupied with the beauty before me I hadn’t noticed the path taking a sharper incline and narrowing to only a few feet in width.
I came to a woods divided and realized I could see the street just down below, engines purring and racing by. The trees were less dressed, some barely holding a leaf to their branch. How quickly my beautiful elven woods had turned to a place I hardly recognized!
Isn’t this true of our faith, as well? Our eyes catch something golden and we make our way towards it, admiring the fleeting pleasures until we’re so deep in the woods of the world nothing looks familiar. We are drawn in to a camouflage beauty that stimulates for a while, until the true desires of our heart are emptied, dangling by one small string. How easy it is to walk deeper into the unknown and stray from God’s love!
I’m standing where the path cuts in two. Time passes. The shadows grow longer and I yearn for the calmness and beauty of my woods. But how
do I get there? Do I continue as I was and hope I make a loop around? Or do I try the new path, the one leading back into the thickness of the trees and listen for the part inside of me that knows when I am getting close again? All I know is that the day is waning like the speckled leaves plummeting to the earth, and the deeper I get, the more surrounded in similar trails I am.
My eyes draw up and see the sun, peeking between the trees. Though it’s low, it still shimmers, still guides the trail before my feet.
, this comforts me, and I step with certainty and continue on my way.
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