Small stone: January 22, 2012

Blustery day, gray skies.

Suddenly, a clutch of singing robins

swoop down from a huge, messy magnolia.

Our migratory friends make winter greener.

Robins standing guard while a colleague feeds.

Small stone: January 21, 2012

Simple awareness: I am blessed─

to be in a place where so many are welcome,

to hear voices I understand speaking languages that I don’t,

to know that we all have the same need to know─

even the most mundane: don’t touch wet paint.

 

 

Small stones: January 20, 2012

Red, crisp, fresh from the root cellar.

Picked just outside and stored for winter,

Simply to be a perfect treat.

Cut just so and arranged on her favorite plate.

Ah, grandmothers. How they care for us.

Reality: organic from the locavore food store,

chilled in a California brushed-stainless steel Amana.

But, at this moment, she is here.

Small stones: January 19, 2012

The earth and the trees are sighing.

Gentle, gentle rain,

the first in many weeks.

Hope for verdant Spring,

at last.

Small stone: January 18, 2012

Wikipedia,

says this lichen is brilliant yellow,

not dull green,

so that it can survive in bright light.

What a nourishing thought

on this gray day.

Small stone: January 17, 2012

Winter, late afternoon.

His slow steps,

almost a shuffle,

walking stick tapping.

Park benches empty.

Remembering summer?

Small stone: January 16, 2012

At the end of a wintry day,

a common miracle:

late afternoon light

embracing one windblown leaf.

Tomorrow may bring rain.