A ball of light slides earthward.Hidden, the moon wanes.Awake past midnight --Must be a new year.
Soft pillowSoft sheetsSoft blanketHard to get out of bed
White sunMoonless nightRemind us we dwellIn gray
Rhododendron leaves hanglike green fangs this frigid morning
Our spinesthe center poles of our meditation tents
In the womb of night a pixel of light
Half-frog poseon algae-green sheets breathing into my pale belly
34 warm degrees:Rhododendron leaves baskOpen and long as surfboards
Over my head in darknessA honking V of geese aims itselfToward the space betweenOrion's belt and sword.
Sorrow woke mebefore the alarm
Early morning thunder:Trash pickup day.
Last night:Snow-eating fogThis morning:Grass, mud
Another winter morningVeils herself with A scarf of fog.
Morning fogMourning fogNewtown.
Each of her fingers wandersIn its own directionNever again to meetOver buttons, wooden spoons,Or fit betweenHer husband's fingers.
Hi Claire... This is an interesting approach to blogging. Do you write all your posts in the comments? :-)I've been writing my small stones on my blogspot blog. http://positivekismet.blogspot.com/2013/01/musings-trust.htmlEliz
Hi Elizabeth! As you can see, I am not much of a blogger and this is not much of a blog. I just thought I would keep all of my small stones in one post. I am really enjoying this challenge. Are you? I checked out your blogs and love the combination of the beautiful photos and the quotes and your comments... a real blog! I enjoy your voice!
TY Claire! I'm new to the small stones and tend to say too much but I'm enjoying it. :-)
JANUARY IS LIKE THATFour daysOf snow-eating fogOn the fifth day:Snow
The texture of night...
Sun lights the spines of books, waking their colors: scarlet chartreuse cyan and cream
So evocative! :) I like this one a lot. :)
Thanks so much, Jade!!!
I love your stones... each one is beautifully different. :-)Eliz
Oyster shells on park bench in moonlight: gulls' dinner dishes.
Frigid, the wind flows in torrentsAbout the house tonight.I float, placid, on my heating pad.
on an assyrian reliefthe genie's muscled calfetched so finely i believe i could put my hand through alabaster
The clamor of bridges being built in the night
I like the idea of bridges built at night... so true and like life and our effort in it. :-)Eliz
A rash of cold daysForces us insideOurselves.
8 degrees --And the rhododendron leavesHang like green straws.
Rainbow hula-hooping around a fading sun
Day blushes herself awake --her pastel glow spreadingabove the airport runway up and over the hillour barren yard the parkdown to the harbor to find her reflectionringed with ships visitingfrom the worldtugs tanks of heating oilthe gestating bridge
light softenswind freshensas if to hurry the day away
Pale morningand sodden Discussion in the rhododendron
Streams of bird-words in the trees this morningnone of them sound like spring
Claire -- it's almost the end of the month -- and I am just figuring out how to get to everyone's blog from the daily posts (double clicking - duh!!) I am a wordpress blogger, and I have not figured the ins and out of Blogger. I've enjoyed your daily stone offerings. Thank you for sharing.
Thank you so much! I have enjoyed your stones as well! In fact, I loved the whole process! Maybe I will continue. Will you?
The Food TerminalThis morningIs a bowl of soup:Wood smokeSpiced meatStirred into gas fumesFrom the highwayAnd fog.
Todaythat same bowlemptied ofevery shredof fog and scentdried byinsistent windsand covered byanother bowl:white dumplingsfloatingin blue broth
The midwinter sunIs generous todaySharing a touchOf its brillianceWith every ivy leaf
Face to dark sky hundreds of cold kissesfrom snowflake lips.
This morning I caught the twiggy forsythia dreaming of yellow...
Snow surprise...It's February.
Newborn day yawns:the rumble of dump-trucks
(Winter Storn Nemo makes its way toward us)8:39 am: Our yard a veiled threat...
Rows of housesTuck themselves inFor approaching night,Pull snowdrifts closer.
Sleep -- will you be my valentine tonight?
I leaned out the windowto smell the new snowAnd roused a bird from its restStartledIts wings & my heartBeat inside a nestOf darkness and star.
Today's white suntransparent, cloudybrings to mindthe Valley of the Kingsand the moon-shapedhand-hewnalabaster jarI left there...
our ice-moat meltswashes awayleaves us open to rumors of mongolsspringingthrough the woods
winter surrendersrumbles through the downspout
Yesterday’s squirrel –One paw gripping branchAs the opposite footScratched the winterFrom his coat, franticTo begin again, clean.
Six words on Holy Saturday:Light attempts to penetrate my tomb.
In the earlybefore all senses wakethere is sight:blinksun butters the curtains blink a cardinal flits to a branch blink the cardinal lifts off blinkhis song from the cherry