ROSE GOLD TONE WATCHES. ROSE GOLD

Rose gold tone watches. Mens yellow gold band

Rose Gold Tone Watches


rose gold tone watches
    rose gold
  • While pure gold is yellow in color, colored gold can be developed into various colors. These colors are generally obtained by alloying gold with other elements in various proportions.
  • The proportions of a diamond are very important to allow the maximum amount of light to be reflected off and out of a stone. Proportion is the relationship between the angles of the facets of the crown and pavilion. Precious Metals
  • A softly hued gold that contains the same metals as yellow gold but with a higher concentration of copper in the alloy. A popular color in Europe, rose gold in watches is often seen in retro styling or in tricolor gold versions.
    watches
  • Secretly follow or spy on
  • A watch is a timepiece that is made to be worn on a person. It is usually a wristwatch, worn on the wrist with a strap or bracelet. In addition to the time, modern watches often display the day, date, month and year, and electronic watches may have many other functions.
  • Look at or observe attentively, typically over a period of time
  • Traditionally, a 24-hour day is divided into seven watches. These are: midnight to 4 a.m. [0000-0400], the mid-watch; 4 to 8 a.m. [0400-0800], morning watch; 8 a.m. to noon [0800-1200], forenoon watch; noon to 4 p.m. [1200-1600], afternoon watch; 4 to 6 p.m.
  • Keep under careful or protective observation
  • Issued when the risk of hazardous weather is significant.
    tone
  • utter monotonously and repetitively and rhythmically; "The students chanted the same slogan over and over again"
  • the quality of a person's voice; "he began in a conversational tone"; "he spoke in a nervous tone of voice"
  • Harmonize with (something) in terms of color
  • (linguistics) a pitch or change in pitch of the voice that serves to distinguish words in tonal languages; "the Beijing dialect uses four tones"
  • Give greater strength or firmness to (the body or a part of it)
  • (of a muscle or bodily part) Became stronger or firmer
rose gold tone watches - Michael Kors
Michael Kors Quartz Two Tone Rose Gold White Dial Women's Watch MK5464
Michael Kors Quartz Two Tone Rose Gold White Dial Women's Watch MK5464
Michael Kors Two-tone Chronograph Ladies Watch. Stainless steel case with a white silicone bracelet with rose gold-tone center links. Fixed white silicone covered bezel. Silver dial with luminous rose gold-tone hands and alternating Arabic numeral and stick hour markers. The Michael Kors name appears below the 12 o'clock position. Luminescent hands and markers. Date display appears between the 4 and 5 o'clock positions. Chronograph - three sub-dials displaying: 60 seconds, 30 minutes and 24 hours.. Quartz movement. Scratch resistant mineral crystal. Rose gold-tone crown. Solid case back. Case diameter: 39 mm. Case thickness: 14 mm. Fold over with push button release clasp. Water resistant at 50 meters / 165 feet. Functions: chronograph, date, hour, minute, second.

77% (14)
Run, my fair lady!
Run, my fair lady!
The silken heavens reflected warmly on my face as I watched, rooted silently to the sidewalk at the top of the highest hill in my street, breathless not so much from running, but from awe at her glowing amber hues; such a riot of colour - rich, gorgeous, undulating - ever changing. From vibrant orange, to rose and royal blues, through violet and gold, cyan, and the deepest wine reds. I couldn't tear my eyes off her, almost afraid to look away; she was shy, affording only a coy glimpse of silver line, then turning to run from sight in florid departure; an ebb tide in a wistful sky. Her burnished footprints left a fading trail across the heavens, the swiftness with which she fled denying me even a blink, gone so soon.....Did I really see that? It was soon night, her inky black hair flowing in a darkening veil over my world until I was only a small smile in the darkness, feeling glad to be alive, blessed to have sight, lucky to have a camera in my hands. I'm reminded this passing moment, to keep a "piece of peace" for myself - a snippet of tranquility out of every day, out of every week - to keep in touch with the important things, keep things in perspective, you know? Too often I pass up an opportunity for emotional/physical rejuvination in favour of a more boisterous activity (for example... paintball...Which WAS awesome!!) and invariably by the end of the month the cam belt is starting to slip, brake pads are starting to squeal, and the sun-visor won't work : I just get weary. Burning the candle at both ends has left me utterly spent. I never used to feel so tired. I remember as a kid I never felt this exhausted, because I always liked to spend time on my own, just.... BEING. Existing. Breathing... Nothing more. Nothing less. I used to have this tree.... I have always loved climbing trees, and I probably will even as an old lady. When I was 12 we had a great big old Macrocarpa tree at the front of our house, it had a trunk so thick you couldn't even stretch your arms around it, not even with three people, and the branches were thick, and smelt nice, like..... parsley or peppermint almost... It was such a nice smell. When you climbed to the top, which was about 40 -50 ft high, it was like you were above the entire world! And to a struggling, rebellious twelve-year-old this was quite the place! The gorgeous rolling green hills of our farm stretched out to the front, and to the back, and to the sides, and on a windy day the whole tree would sway violently, causing my mother no end of worry, I am sure... I would cling to the top like a shiprat in a storm; defiant, delirious with joy for absolute screamin freedom. I would pick the little nuts off the tree and throw them onto the house roof, (always fun when mum was in a foul mood) and I'd wait grinning for someone to come outside, wondering what the noise was. Mum would come out with her hands on her hips, peering up in irritation, and scold the tree in a "always the parents who have to suffer" kind of tone. I'd laugh and fling myself gleefully from branch to branch like a spider monkey, safe from the wooden spoon, pestering sisters, and angry voices. I used to love the sighing sound the wind made in the branches; soft, like a quiet hum. The world of below didn't intrude, up there. You were above the noise. Detached. Peaceful. I decided my tree would be a fantastic place to make a hut, so with much labouring and cursing out of earshot, I built a fantastic tree-house amongst the topmost branches. It was a very good hut too! It had a floor, walls, and little curtains stolen from my nanas fabric collection, and it had a trapdoor made of branches that were bent across the hole. There was only one way in, and THAT was it - because the fort was built around the entire tree-trunk. I was so proud of this roughly hewn little place, that I decided I would never leave it. Not for dinner, not for sleep, not for anything... So I packed my pillow (clenched it in my teeth), put my cat in my backpack, (she didnt like that very much and meowed a lot, kept moving around too - made it very difficult to climb with my bag jumping all over the place) and I packed dinner, breakfast, and a torch for night-time. I went up there about when the day was just starting to close, like a book its glorious chapter, and I watched the sun set up there with my blanket wrapped around me and the wind in my hair and the (now relieved) cat on my lap. I ate dinner resting my back against the softly swaying tree trunk, and closed my eyes, and thought, and thought, and thought... And discovered the value of solitude. Later that night though, I was very glad for the feline company - there were possums in that tree, and they were very curious possums.... I could hear them making snuffling noises just below the floorboards.. They were harmless, and I knew this, but still, I coughed as loudly as I could, and started talking to my cat in a loud, slightly trembling voice (SUC
Portrait of a Lady
Portrait of a Lady
I Among the smoke and fog of a December afternoon You have the scene arrange itself — as it will seem to do— With "I have saved this afternoon for you"; And four wax candles in the darkened room, Four rings of light upon the ceiling overhead, An atmosphere of Juliet's tomb Prepared for all the things to be said, or left unsaid. We have been, let us say, to hear the latest Pole Transmit the Preludes, through his hair and finger-tips. "So intimate, this Chopin, that I think his soul Should be resurrected only among friends Some two or three, who will not touch the bloom That is rubbed and questioned in the concert room." —And so the conversation slips Among velleities and carefully caught regrets Through attenuated tones of violins Mingled with remote cornets And begins. "You do not know how much they mean to me, my friends, And how, how rare and strange it is, to find In a life composed so much, so much of odds and ends, (For indeed I do not love it ... you knew? you are not blind! How keen you are!) To find a friend who has these qualities, Who has, and gives Those qualities upon which friendship lives. How much it means that I say this to you — Without these friendships — life, what cauchemar!" Among the winding of the violins And the ariettes Of cracked cornets Inside my brain a dull tom-tom begins Absurdly hammering a prelude of its own, Capricious monotone That is at least one definite "false note." — Let us take the air, in a tobacco trance, Admire the monuments, Discuss the late events, Correct our watches by the public clocks. Then sit for half an hour and drink our bocks. II Now that lilacs are in bloom She has a bowl of lilacs in her room And twists one in her fingers while she talks. "Ah, my friend, you do not know, you do not know What life is, you who hold it in your hands"; (Slowly twisting the lilac stalks) "You let it flow from you, you let it flow, And youth is cruel, and has no remorse And smiles at situations which it cannot see." I smile, of course, And go on drinking tea. "Yet with these April sunsets, that somehow recall My buried life, and Paris in the Spring, I feel immeasurably at peace, and find the world To be wonderful and youthful, after all." The voice returns like the insistent out-of-tune Of a broken violin on an August afternoon: "I am always sure that you understand My feelings, always sure that you feel, Sure that across the gulf you reach your hand. You are invulnerable, you have no Achilles' heel. You will go on, and when you have prevailed You can say: at this point many a one has failed. But what have I, but what have I, my friend, To give you, what can you receive from me? Only the friendship and the sympathy Of one about to reach her journey's end. I shall sit here, serving tea to friends ...." I take my hat: how can I make a cowardly amends For what she has said to me? You will see me any morning in the park Reading the comics and the sporting page. Particularly I remark. An English countess goes upon the stage. A Greek was murdered at a Polish dance, Another bank defaulter has confessed. I keep my countenance, I remain self-possessed Except when a street-piano, mechanical and tired Reiterates some worn-out common song With the smell of hyacinths across the garden Recalling things that other people have desired. Are these ideas right or wrong? III The October night comes down; returning as before Except for a slight sensation of being ill at ease I mount the stairs and turn the handle of the door And feel as if I had mounted on my hands and knees. "And so you are going abroad; and when do you return? But that's a useless question. You hardly know when you are coming back, You will find so much to learn." My smile falls heavily among the bric-a-brac. "Perhaps you can write to me." My self-possession flares up for a second; This is as I had reckoned. "I have been wondering frequently of late (But our beginnings never know our ends!) Why we have not developed into friends." I feel like one who smiles, and turning shall remark Suddenly, his expression in a glass. My self-possession gutters; we are really in the dark. "For everybody said so, all our friends, They all were sure our feelings would relate So closely! I myself can hardly understand. We must leave it now to fate. You will write, at any rate. Perhaps it is not too late. I shall sit here, serving tea to friends." And I must borrow every changing shape To find expression ... dance, dance Like a dancing bear, Cry like a parrot, chatter like an ape. Let us take the air, in a tobacco trance— Well! and what if she should die some afternoon, Afternoon grey and smoky, evening yellow and rose; Should die and leave me sitting pen in hand With the smoke coming down above the housetops; Doubtful, for quite a while Not knowing what to feel or if I understand Or whether wise or foolish, tar

rose gold tone watches
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