Small Stone for 3 February, 2018

Today Aram Khachaturian’s Masquerade Waltz has ear-wormed its insinuating coils into my head and refuses to worm out, and my mind is a swirling mass of blue and purple ballgowns hoar-frosted with diamonds that glitter in the candlelight.

Small Stone for 19 January, 2018

Perhaps, if we knew a silent unseen thing with claws might swoop down owl-like upon us at any moment, we might live those moments with more mindful care and gratitude.

Small Stone for 25 November, 2016

In the early morning darkness, eyes are useless.  It is touch that defines the world — the warm cocoon of the bedclothes, the cool air on my nose where it pokes above the covers, the warm furry kitty body curled against my shoulder.  After a moment on the surface of wakefulness, I take a deep breath of quietude, and sound like a whale back down into the depths of sleep.

Small Stone for March 26, 2015

The flanks of night are moonlight white, grey dappled with clouds.

Small Stone for September 9, 2014

The full moon is a silver dollar from two centuries ago tossed onto the dark blue velvet counterpane of night, so finger-worn one cannot call it heads or tails.  Its pale orb plays peekaboo through the tree branches as I drive down the night-lit streets.

Small Stone for September 23, 2013

The flashlight of the full moon discovers me in the darkness.

Small Stone for October 14, 2011

Midnight cool sieves slowly through the screen door and pools upon the kitchen floor.  A six-legged soul trills a single lovelorn note into the darkness as the wind-surf ebbs and flows across the treeshore.

Small Stone for July 15, 2011

Klieg lit by the full moon,  the mocking bird’s child takes a bough in the ornamental pear tree and does impersonations:  A starling, a blue jay, a grackle, a cardinal, a robin, a car alarm.

Small Stone for July 7, 2011

Such a long sleep.  Diving deep within the dreaming waters.  Swim until that breath gives out.  Surface, gasping, porpoise breathe, and dive again.  And in the swimming, dreams like shoals of spangled fish, flit and dart. This one a barracuda, rippling sharpness.  That one a basking shark, huge and round and long.  And millions of mackerels between, blowing past me like a silver wind.

Small Stone for June 28, 2011

The night wind is hot and sweaty, and has rain on its breath.