BASSWOOD BLINDS

Aviditi 4-Foot Wide x 2-Foot Deep x 5-Foot High Grow Tent

This heavy-duty polyester fabric grow tent has commercial zippers, and offers a way for you to have something like your own greenhouse inside your home. The right grow tent enables you to raise vegetables such as beans, eggplants and tomatoes, and many other plants at any time of the year. City-dwellers living in cramped spaces, or those who do not have a backyard or another place to raise plants outside their homes will find grow tents to be the perfect space-saving devices for indoor gardening. A grow tent, also known as a dark room grow tent, is also suitable if you are going to germinate or grow seeds hydroponically. Hydroponics is the method of growing plants without the need for compost or soil, so the process is not as messy as when soil is used. All you need is water and the nutrients that the plants require. The benefits of grow cabinet gardening do not stop with the availability of fresh vegetables and fruit for city and apartment dwellers. It has also been found that gardening is an enjoyable task, and many doctors are even prescribing it to their patients for stress relief. Looking at the beautiful plants growing and their fruits emerging and developing has definite therapeutic effects. Thus, more and more people are turning to gardening as a pastime.

Conor Nitely looks up, noticing Guin then. Cheeks go red like a fire engine. He turns quickly to Phoebe, rolling the clay fast in his hands as he speaks a little too loudly now. "SO...ERRR...YOU KNOW TINKERBELL?"

Phoebe Scribe tucked her ruler back into the side pocket of her backpack and trailed her gaze around the others' clay doors, before crumpling hers up and starting to read the new word. She mouths it out, and sets about making the shape of a bottle of beer. She rolls it on the ground, and begins shaping a column of clay. Her face turns bright red when Conor calls her tinkerbell. She swallowed hard. "Uh, I's not tinkerbell. Audr-- Phoebe."

Conor Nitely shakes his head, clay still rolling /fast/ between those hands. It's unrecognizable as a bottle really, more like a sad worm. "NO TINKERBELL..." Cheeks go three shades deeper when he realizes he's shouting. Three deep breaths then, quieter as he continues. "Tinkerbell has a chain. Says Boo. Saw you on the bridge." He looks down at the misshappen lump in his hand, smashing it back together before he continues. Nervous eyes flick to the crowd as he leans in to whisper to the girl.

Phoebe Scribe started shaping her bottle with her hands, and grew more frustrated when it wouldn't shape the way she wants. She heard Conor's whisper and blinked, mouthing an "o" when she turned to look at him, promptly shutting up and furiously working on her bottle.

Conor Nitely scowled, mostly at himself. He'd done quite well tonight with the new girl, yelling at her then seeming to make her upset. He concentrated on his clay for awhile, the lump still not resembling any type of bottle. Not from lack of trying though. A sigh of relief at the next word. This one /had/ to be easier.

Conor Nitely nodded slowly, finger raising to his own lips to mimic the gesture. "Conor doesn't tell," he whispered back, molding the first tube for his flashlight. Unruly hair flopped as he shook his head, remembering to correct himself. "/I/ don't tell. And I'm Conor. See-Oh-En-Oh-Are."

Phoebe Scribe nodded and started to roll a second piece for her flashlight, making a little lump that she meant to resemble a button. "Tinkerbell's nice to me." She held the flashlight with thwo hands, so it wouldn't flop or break apart. "Nice to meetcha Conor."

Conor Nitely looked a little surprised at that, not sure they were still talking about the same person. "She's nice to me too..." he started hesistantly. "Didn't shoot me yet." Sage nod then, hands absently rolling a second lump for the head of his flashlight. "Did you just move here? 'Cause I haven't seen you before. Just at the bridge. But I /wasn't/ running away. Just...walking fast."

Phoebe Scribe smirked a little when she looked up at him. "I dun think she shoots kids." She squished her flashlight flat and pounded on it with her fist. "Um, well..." She hemmed and hawed before leaning in to murmur. "Kinda. It's complicated. Live with m'daddeh now. Used ta live with my grandpere." Her eyes lower to the clay and she pounds on it a little harder.

Conor Nitely rolls the word around in his mouth, tripping on it for a moment as he repeated, "Grandpere." He leans back into her to whisper back. "Good you have a daddy to live with right? Is he nice?" A quick plea to Sister D, brow creasing as he wonders if she's about to take the clay away. "Can I take some home...err back with me Sister? I need to make something that's not a door or flashlight or bottle then get the moisture out."

Phoebe Scribe looked back at the nun and beamed a smile briefly before she shrugged at Conor. "He's alright, but ain't never home. Tinkerbell says he's an asshole though." She whispered the swear word, cringing as it left her lips. "WHat 'bout you?"

Conor Nitely shrugged, smirking only slightly at the swear. A vague answer at best. "Sometimes I stay in the barracks and sometimes I stay in the Nook and Cranberry. Has a balcony!" He broke into a full grin at Sister D's words, small hands reaching out quickly to snag two chunks of clay. The pink piece he tried to palm, hiding it as best he could as he shaped it into a ball. The white sat untouched for a moment. "Sometimes not home is good though? If he's...you know...an..." he hesitated at repeating the word, eyes flicking to Guin in a -not around her- look.

Phoebe Scribe scooted forward to grab a sheet of paper and a few colors, picking red and green like she typically carried around in her bag. She blew air from between her lips, and nodded to Conor. "Not home is good. What's nook and cranberry?" Her fingers curl around a green crayon and she brings it to the paper.

Conor Nitely watched her go for the paper, suddenly realizing clay time was over. He'd shove both chunks into his bag quickly, re

Once upon a time there was a smug little town perched at the edge of a deep blue ocean. All around it, trees grew. Great twisting tentacled trees. Trees with limbs like undulating snakes, like curls of smoke turned miraculously solid. The trees breathed in and out, cleaning the air continuously; their fallen leaves and acorns fed the earth around their roots, creating food and habitat for all manner of other critters. Their branches were anointed with nests; their summer shade cooled the meadow, preserving moisture through the long brown rainless summers.

The trees harmed no one. At least not on purpose. Of course there were “accidents” when people felled them; maimings, fatalities, losses of human limbs; that was to be expected. But most of the time the trees, as far as anyone in the town knew, pretty much just stood there, swaying in the breeze, changing with the seasons; anonymous, dispensable, to be hacked away without a thought when the thing called Progress demanded it.

Then one day a fairy (do you think they called them fairies because they so often set things right, or restored an order of fairness?). Anyway, one day a fairy happened by and was surprised by what she saw. She’d last visited the shore a few hundred years earlier (a short blip in fairy time) and seen a very different place.

The people who lived there hundreds of years ago led a rich and satisfying life. The sea and surrounding woods and meadows provided a diverse and nearly endless food supply. The people ate well; had plenty for the winters; lived in comfort… and had the luxury of dedicating time to art, to craft, to ceremony, song and feast. They had their hardships. Their life was not idyllic. But they cherished and respected the earth. And the trees.

The new town was different. The people there saw the trees (if indeed they noticed them at all) as barriers, as things to be removed and gotten past. They slaughtered the trees to build their houses, heat their houses, cook their food. They slaughtered more to grow crops, to build roads and shopping malls. The trees were not entirely resigned (remember those “accidents”). But they were rooted; that was the only thing that truly held them back. And so the fairy, hoping to return the place to its earlier balance, gave the trees the power of movement; made their roots fast feet; encouraged them to bring the place back to what it had been.

The trees went forward without hesitation. They had dreamed of this day for a very long time. Many had been planning it in detail for centuries. They decided to wait till late in the night when most of the town would be sleeping or distracted.

As darkness fell, they began a slow shuffle. Earth erupted as first one, then 10, then a hundred others ripped their deep thick heavy roots from the ground… setting off a string of low successive rumbles like a long roll of thunder. A soft cloud of dust rose up around the town’s outskirts as the trees moved in. They barricaded roads. Stopped traffic. And, after all those countless years of practising with only air, their long twisting talons made solid contact; pried the roofs off houses; lashed down the power lines and watched, amused as the people jerked and fried with their own innovation coursing through them. The trees systematically ripped up the town, destroyed the people’s built environment. They worked through the night until nothing artificial stood, and all the people had been killed or had fled.

By morning the trees were exhausted. Movement was new to them and they had had a lot of it. They surveyed what was left of the town and they were well and truly pleased. They lashed long branches across each other’s backs in celebration of their victory. And then.

And then one tree saw something shiny, flickering in the dust. It was small and metallic with a strange glass front that kept changing colours, patterns, frequencies of light and dark. The tree picked it up and showed it to a few of the others. They didn’t understand why or how, but the bright shiny flickering glass held their attention. Soon more trees gathered round. And they touched the object, and it made sounds. And it continued making sounds, and somehow the sounds and the flashing glassy light seemed connected – and the trees found it even more compelling.

These were all park trees. They had lived in the closest thing to wilderness there was around the town. Few of their immediate family had been slaughtered, and so they were less vigilantly anti-people than their more urban counterparts. They talked among themselves and decided on two things.

1. They would take the shiny object back to the park to amuse them. Now that they had tasted freedom, they were less keen about standing all day and night in silence with nothing to watch or listen to but weather, insects, birds and other plants.

2. On their way back, they would check the ruins of the town for any more shiny objects. If t

A must for anyone wanting to improve their lives and their positive thinking. There have been more millionaires and indeed, billionaires, who have made their fortunes as a result of reading this success classic than any other book every printed. NAPOLEON HILLS's "Think and Grow Rich" is the authors most famous work. This is the COMPLETE Reference Book. A true masterpiece with the fundamentals of the Success philosophy. *** ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Napoleon Hill was an American author who was one of the earliest producers of the modern genre of personal-success literature. His most famous work, Think and Grow Rich, is one of the best-selling books of all time. Hill's works examined the power of personal beliefs, and the role they play in personal success. "What the mind of man can conceive and believe, it can achieve" is one of Hill's hallmark expressions. How achievement actually occurs, and a formula for it that puts success in reach for the average person, were the focal points of Hill's books.

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