Small Stone: January 8, 2013

Out with the old,

though so recently new.

I made no resolution

to make such change.

Today: seems inevitable.

Small Stone: January 7, 2013

Astonishingly gray day,

not a hint of sun, light diffused.

Against the sky, the many shades

of a winter’s green, enhanced. 

Small Stone: January 6, 2013

One of the tallest trees

in the City is in a back garden,

down the block.

I see it growing every morning,

but many days don't notice.

What did the person who planted a seedling,

perhaps a hundred years ago,

know of duration or time?

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.