A Couple Small Stones

#1
Water cascades over me,
  it's warmth a massage on my aching muscles,
As it washes away
  dirt, dog hair, horse slobber and yoga sweat.


#2

A flash of sapphire between white blossoms.
A bluebird dips and dives between the branches.

Small Stone for March 16th

My legs draped like a wet towel

  quiet against Jackson's sides.

My hands feeling the conversation,

  softly chewing, stretching down.

A mantra of trust vibrates between us.

Small Stone for March 10th

Across the road there are thousands of daffodils.

Broad brush strokes of egg yolk yellow and sinking sun orange.

Streaming beside the creek,

Nodding under the oaks,

Spilling across the field.

Small Stone for March 9th

Wood stove warmth;

Flames dancing,

licking

leaping.

 White ash scorched logs.

Orange embers glow.

Small Stone for March 8th

Today I searched for a whip that the puppy dragged off.

As I leaned into Camille's pine tree, soft needles brushed my face

And the sharp, sweet, piney scent mingled with the rich aroma of damp earth.

My mind flashed back 40 years to a backyard pine tree;

Ground hugging with boughs arching to sweep the ground.

Me, hidden inside, with a book

Laying on the pine needle carpet.

Content.

Small Stone for March 4th

At the grocery store an elderly couple get out of the car next to me.

He is wearing shorts pulled too high and tennis shoes.

She sports slacks, sweater and a purse fallen halfway off her shoulder.

I beam a smile to them and say hello.

They look at each other confused, surprised - and then shyly smile back.

Hello.

Small Stone for March 3rd

Metallic clouds steal the morning's sapphire sky.

Fog blows damp and cold.

A rusty-red finch hops among the eaves.

His small dark eyes alert.

I pull the soft ivory afghan to my neck

and wait for the sun to return.

Small Stone for March 1st

I am participating in an e-course this month on writing as spiritual practice.  It started yesterday and I may, from time to time, post a small stone that comes out of that journey.  Like today.

Dull hedgerow greens and muddy oranges

of rough wool and smooth cotton

basketweave the background.

Soft periwinkle silk

ribbon roses

add accent and interest.

My life stitched together.

Roles and interests

sharing canvas holes.

February small hard stone

Waiting for the knot to dissipate.

The heart has slowed from pounding panic

to dull pain.

Walls have been erected.

Your kindness can't penetrate.

Don't make me look in your eyes

lest I sob like a hurt child.

Small Stones #19

Bright sun and the sound of

bees busy in the blossoms

bursting pink and white.

I stop,

smile and sigh.

Small Stones #18

white breasted nuthatch:

a bright black face

and a black striped head.

Quickly climbs the entry post,

surveys the eaves,

and just as quickly leaves.

Small Stones #16 & 17

#16: At the Theatre

Two couples arrive together.

The husbands dutifully shuffle to their seats

guided by sprightly wives

with hair silver bobbed and curly white.
The men remind me of my great uncle on the farm -

Plaid shirt and crumpled polo shirt;

wispy white hair, balding;

both with sloppy suspenders

pulling up their trousers to mid-back

and exposing ankles.

Outside, milling around the lobby

boys in slouchy shirts mingle with

girls in skinny jeans and black boots.

Clad in middle aged neat attire
we take our seats in the rows 

between slouchy and suspenders.

#17: On the Train

Small hands rest on my knees.

I look up from polishing a small stone

to see a child in pink sweats with sparkle and bling.

She gazes up at me in welcome

then turns slowly to her mother in confusion.

I wonder who she was expecting.

Small Stones #15

With a blanket around my shoulders

and the warmth of the morning sun on my face,

I sit by the window and watch

a solitary brown sycamore leaf

turn end over end;

bumping across the orchard grass

and skidding over the gravel garden path;

Catching, finally, in the

bare bushes bracing

for the next gust.

Small Stones #14

The heirloom pear was sick.

The tall strong tree 

With fruit heavy, sweet, juice dripping on my chin

Had leaves blackened and dead.

To save it, we cut away all the diseased limbs.

All that remained was the trunk 

and two small short skinny sorry limbs.

Today there are fat blossom buds

ready to burst.

Small Stones #13

Waiting to meet the vet

we sit in the truck cab,

facing west toward the mountain.

The afternoon sun is warm on my face

and I close my eyes

listening for the crunch of gravel

beneath the tires of the truck

bringing back my puppy.

Small Stones #12

Jackson is fetlock deep

in green grass;

muzzle searching, choosing;

teeth ripping, chewing.

Me ~

sitting on the slope

soaking up the sun

and happiness

Small Stones #11

Small brown birds hop along

the wood beam,

surveying the porch eaves.

Are they choosing a nesting location or

reclaiming the remains

of last year?

Small Stones #10

Pointed green noses

poke through the orchard grass.

Narcissus

hidden within.

Small Stones #9

 

A rocky trail walked with aching feet.  The smell of sage and anise soothed my senses.

Small Stones #8

Kalvin

Yesterday

Warm sun with a strong cool wind

trees and leaves rustling, creaking, singing

Silky black mane blowing,

Ears pricked and tail high;

Kalvin hurtles from shed fence to pasture pond.

Big bucks bursting

one, two, three, four

Fence! 

Sliding stop.  Spin. Repeat.

Today

mud clods

spattered on the run-in shed walls

dangling from the ceiling.

Kalvin, sweat matted winter coat,

Ears pricked.