Days are growing longer.
Birds rejoice with song.
Lined up in rows,
hundreds of golden Forsythia stars
signal the coming of Spring.

Evening Stone

The waxing crescent moon sits in the star-filled sky; a beautiful sliver of evening wonder.

Breakfast

Pale toast and boiled water with coffee grounds floating in it.
I subdue my laugh, because it really is the thought that counts.
And she included my favorite jam. How sweet.

River of Stones - Day 31

January comes to a close with frost-covered fields and gardens.
Bleached skies and clouded breath suggest winter is here to stay,
but growing on a bush like a faint whisper of hope
the woolly pussy willows tell me spring is on the way.

River of Stones - Day 30

High tension lines look like strings holding up the tower
as if an electrified marionette for a giant or for the gods,
but we all know it only plays puppet to the ever-growing,
never ending show of human consumption. 

River of Stones - Day 29

A white scratch etched upon the perfect blue sky--
        the result of a jet flying by--
              reminds me all scars fade with time.

River of Stones - Day 28

Two days have come and gone without my posting a stone.Why? It is not as if writing about a single moment of observation is a difficult task. The task can be completed in two minutes. To be honest, I am not sure why. Perhaps it lies in selfishness. I'm like a little girl who came home on her birthday, opened the door and found the puppy she'd been longing for. She picks it up and holds it close, perhaps a bit too tightly at first, not wanting to let go. For the moment, the whole world exists of soft fluffy fur. Yes. That's it.  I am lost in the moment, holding my stones tight. Some stones are just too precious to skim across the surface of the river.