Writing our Way Home-Small Stones

Another writing project that I’ve taken on in my ongoing effort to increase my writing time and hopefully expand my writing mind.

Writing Our Way Home involves writing “small stones”, or simple descriptive phrases or paragraphs on a regular basis. It is coordinated by the same folks who did the River of Stones project I was involved with this past January. I don’t expect to write new entries daily, but I hope to do so relatively regularly.

November 27, 2011

Long red rays of sunlight

finger combing tree tops

November 28, 2011:

This little thing has been bugging me all night. It is now first thing in the morning and I have made revisions in my head as I laid awake. I have to get them down before it all is lost during the day.

Winter Dusk

Evening sunlight

finger combed by bare treetops

into glowing shafts of orange

neatly covering the landscape

Or, another variation…..(I told you this was keeping me awake during the night!)

Bare treetops

finger comb the evening sky

into glowing shafts of sunlight

settling over the landscape

I can’t decide which I prefer, but this will drive me crazy for a while.

December 1.2011:

Stiff brown tips of grass

poke through a sea of white

standing tall as snow encircles

the rising tide of winter

December 4, 2011:

Writing

Blue light glows from rectangular box, a chair squeaks

fingertips tap a halting rhythm with lettered squares,

eyes follow a blinking line across the screen

grunt of frustration, sigh of satisfaction

January 1.2012:

The universe continues

The stars oblivious

The earth turns, uncaring

Animals live and die unknowing

Only a miniscule human poplulation

Marks a random day

Chosen by them

As a fresh beginning

counting each time their

speck of dust circles the

warmth and light of its

sun

Happy New Year

January 5, 2012:

The first day on the job, a storeroom is transformed into cozy office space; in my mind I recall the day in two minute intervals seeing the progress step by step.

June 26, 2012:

Rows of fresh cut grass follow behind the whining of the lawnmower, up and down the length of the neighbor’s yard.

 

A whining buzz warns of the prick of a bite, slap of hand to skin. Mosquito’s last meal.

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Responses

  1. I can see the second one more clearly.

    • Thanks- I think I like that one better, too.

  2. I love the idea of the rising tide of winter! So interesting.


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