Small Stone: January 5, 2013

A quiet, rain-spattered afternoon,

hoping that a moment of reflection

might unfurl as I read or doze.

Sound of rain, a whiff of smoke

from a neighbor’s warming fire

and just outside my kitchen window

a fern unfolds.

Small Stone: January 4, 2013

The beginning of a cold:

hot tea, bundle up, turn on the t.v.

for something mindless. Gloomy.

Older interviewer, two brilliant young men:

astounding conversation about the future

of how we communicate.

Filled with hope.

Small Stone: January 3, 2003

Neighbor’s trash barrels overflowing.

In my own life, so much excess, not just trash ─ possessions

and food and clothes and entertainment and technology.
 

As I went around the corner,

I realized that the sad young man I see, sometimes speak with,

occasionally give a few dollars, has been away from his doorways

for some days. How many? In the excess of my life I have not noticed.

He had gone from thin to emaciated in recent weeks,

pulling even tighter into his mostly silent world on the street.

A crumpled bill or a few coins, even a few moments of concern

won’t solve his problems. But, in the incredible excess of my life

and the lives of folks all around me, can’t we find a way to make

it more equitable? Or, at least be aware?

Small Stone: January 2, 2013

The second morning of the year

is crisp and bright.

Traffic seems subdued and slow.

Pedestrians, bundled for winter, distracted.

A crushed, once festive paper hat

in the gutter, a still fragrant pine

waits to be recycled. 

A quiet sense: something is unfinished.

Small Stone: January 1, 2013

For the next 31 days, I will be participating in 

the Mindful Writing Challenge and will be making

an intentional observation of some aspect of my life each day.

If you would like to participate, just click on the "small stones" badge

on the right column and it will take you to the wonderful 

folks at Writing Our Way Home.

Intense young men,

lilting Español, raucous English

compañeros, friends

on a sunny winter afternoon.

Pick-up soccer….”free for all to participate”.

So aware that for today,

my participation is observing.

Intently haphazard

All of my posts over the last year have been my writing. But, I would like to end the year with a poem by Denise Levertov which has given me my motto for the year ahead. Best wishes for a Happy New Year.

Overland to the Islands

Let's go—much as that dog goes,
intently haphazard. The
Mexican light on a day that
'smells like autumn in Connecticut'
makes iris ripples on his
black gleaming fur—and that too
is as one would desire—a radiance
consorting with the dance.
                       Under his feet
rocks and mud, his imagination, sniffing,
engaged in its perceptions—dancing
edgeways, there's nothing
the dog disdains on his way,
nevertheless he
keeps moving, changing
pace and approach but
not direction—'every step an arrival.'

by Denise Levertov
from Overland to the Islands
publisher: Jonathan Williams, 1958

Frank and Zeke are dogs that I loved and are no longer dancing edgeways in this reality.

The world turns green

It seems almost cruel

to show such splendid days

when cold and snow is blasting

across the continent.

But, this is our reality.

The rains come, the world

turns green and the palms

glory in the late afternoon sun.

Hmmm. Winter?