A River of Stones is a project created for writers and non-writers, inviting them to write a small stone each day during the month of January. A small stone is a moment of being, captured in a few words, and a wonderful discipline to focus the mind and the pen! To find out more go to:
http://ariverofstones.blogspot.com
I intend to post my small stones here and on Twitter. They will also be linked to The River of Stones blog created by Kaspa and Fiona by means of the ‘aros’ tag.
1st January 2011
Silver mist swirls in the orange glow of the streetlamp. A crow caws, and caws again, trying to hold on to the night, but a watercolour blue melts the dark and chaffinches start their song.
2nd January
Rain on the tarred felt roof beats a tattoo, telling me I’m home and dry.
3rd January
A whole world in a featherlight case, and a mighty lead to power it.
4th January
Hot sun, iced cream, fresh strawberries. Sweet memories.
5th January
Old book, re-read. New truths revealed.
6th January
A serpent twists and coils, pushing the air from my lungs and the blood to my head. It squeezes my heart.
7th January
Quick march! Hurry-hurry. Shops, guests, dinner. Stop. Wait. Slowly, slowly … Food, friends and supping …
8th January
A thatch of sugar-frosted blades crunch beneath my feet, an icy nip catches my nose, and green shoots peep through dark earth.
9th January
The eternity of our love in a glimpse. Gone, but understood.
10th January
A wave of seagulls’ cries wash across the sky, and fade, leaving me on a cold winter street, with warm summer sand beneath my feet.
11th January
Whirlpools whisk round a hidden rock, but the rock is deep and firm.
12th January
I rise slowly but surely, standing to the right, to let others pass me by.
13th January
Joseph, 3ft tall, stands on stage pushing words from his lips, and a finger up his nose.
14th January
Fog shrouds the rook-racked trees, silvering the wide, green downs and drawing me in, to silence.
15th January
Pewter pools, separate and solitary, wait patiently on a grey dawn beach for the incoming tide.
16th January
Dad, lying on the hospital bed, creased and small. He should be standing, over 6ft tall.
17th January
The jelly quivers, the candles glow. He takes a breath, he gives a blow. Darkness, and the sunshine of children’s laughter.
18th January
Blue-tits, blackbirds and robins, flutter, frolic and feed.
19th January
Morning, and my in-tray’s unfettered; my mind unfretted. I breathe in and press the button, which shelters the messes.
20th January
She held the door to let others through with the grace of so much dignity she had no need to stand on it.
21st January
Venus, on a spread of sapphire silk, kisses the morning.
22nd January
Damp earth, rank with rotting vegetation, gives rise to strong, green shoots, stretching for the sky.
23rd January
Every grain of regret is grit in my heart.
24th January
A sweep of starlings fill the sky, soaring and swirling, this way and that, on a silent dance to sunset and sleep.
25th January
Anger bursts through the door; six foot four, and two foot three.
26th January
Faded emerald leaves bow beneath crimson petals of poinsettia, in memoriam to Christmas.
27th January
Beneath the grey blanket of the day, green buds are beginning to grow.
28th January
The damselfly dances round my memory, a myriad of summers, and you. But the damselfly, the summers, and you, are gone.
29th January
Smoothly honed Istrian stone whispers of the waters from which it sprang, urging my eyes to linger and my fingers to stray.
30th January
A shaft of light finds a gap in the heavy curtains, throwing a silver sword on the wall at the foot of my bed.
31st January
I tossed a handful of stones in the river and the ripples rolled out, and returned with words from around the world. Thank you.
4th February
Through my study window, wind blows and buffets filligree fingers of beech, but the trunk stands straight and strong.
7th February
The seagull spreads its wings, grey on grey, and soars on lifts of air.
8th February
I draw back thick, woven cream onto pale grey silk and diamond drops; the fabric of the morning.
15th February
My hands grasp the wheel, my car grips the road; rushing forward, holding on.
18th February
Deep in the wide Black Mountains, nothing but green gorse and silence surrounds me. From somewhere, out of sight, a sheep coughs.
