being blown about by the winds
of everyday life
no time for the last small stone
Day 31. Throwing the last small stone of January into the river. I’m sorry to say I had to rush through this last one as my day has been almost filled with appointments. Happily, the last one involves meeting a friend to go hiking and then to dinner so it’s not all dentist and other health-related activities.
It’s been fun, and a good experience for me. Will I continue? I think I will. The small notebook I started to use for this project still has many blank pages left to fill, and I like the idea of taking time out to be mindful of at least one small thing each day. It’s a good practice.
Thank you to Kaspa and Fiona, from whom the idea originated, and to Kel who invited me to join. And thank you to those who stopped by to read and/or comment. I appreciate it.
When she looked up, she closed her eyes against the brilliance of the sun, feeling the warmth spread across her face. The brightness was still there, penetrating the darkness behind her eyelids. Bright, bold yellows radiated outwards in star-like patterns. Miniature suns in blazing reds and hot oranges danced and sparkled, the skin protecting the eyes unable to keep out the dazzling sunlight. She thought, “How wonderful to spend time with the sun once again!” as she felt the light fade and the warmth withdraw. The winter clouds had returned.
I used a prompt from A Writer’s Book of Days for today’s small stone. While standing at the kitchen window, soaking up the sunlight, I wrote (in my head) something similar although more like a poem, prior to reading the prompt I’d be using for today. After reading the prompt, I ended up with a longer version of what’s above, and chopped it down to a few sentences to make it a small stone.
The sun makes brief appearances here in the Bogs during the winter months and I’ve learned to mimic the cats, and follow the light around the house when it does come to visit.
blown about by the North Wind
the tang of woodsmoke
drifts in and out
black polka dots overhead
meandering across a drab gray sky
mobs of snowflakes arrive
silently rioting and gathering
in patches and drifts
the blue jay in the woods
in a counter-demonstration
A small stone for a snowy Day 28. Boreas, in Greek mythology, was the purple-winged god of the north wind and winter. I’m far from Greece, but can’t seem to find a North American equivalent.
moving slowly from image to image
soaking up, breathing in, captivated by
the light and color of art
on a gray and snizzling day
a marvelous way to wile away an afternoon
as we sail through the January Doldrums
on our way to the February Funk
Day 27. “Snizzling” is not a word (that I can find on any online dictionary). It’s what I call a mixture of snow and a rainy drizzle.
Warm air up above
Cold air down below
Rain transmuted to ice
In the church of
the temperature inversion
A small stone for Day 26.
immersing myself in melancholy
(a pity party with whine and cheese)
life gives me a sudden chiropractic treatment of the mind
(an attitude adjustment)
pulling me out of the muck of my own making
opening me up to possibility
As I mentioned on my other blog yesterday, we are sailing into the January Doldrums, the passage to the February Funk. That’s winter.