Small Stone for 16 June, 2021

I found this little shard of song, while wandering the shores of the Dreaming Sea.

It lay tangled in a wrack of questions, abandoned by the lisping waves among the pebbles.One day I might take it up, make polite inquiries, and see if it will answer. In the meantime, let it sit here on this metaphorical window sill to catch the light and glitter enigmatically, humming quietly to itself.

“The morning is dawning.

It’s cold but it’s fair.

There’s the scent of the heather

Adrift on the air.

There’s the softest of breezes

Blowing out of the west.

There’s the valley below

Where I stand on the crest.

T’is the last day my footsteps

Will grace this good earth,

The last day I’ll spend

In the land of my birth.

My heart should be heavy

To leave home and kin,

But my spirit, it soars

Like a lark on the wind.”

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 October 3, 2011

Drinking in the video of a speckled seal bobbing in the swell off the coast of Wales.  The sea is Bacardi bottle green and as lucid as the seal’s eyes watching me back.

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 hag moon like a galleon with furled sails drifts slowly out of the midnight sea onto the shoals of morning.