"I hope you will go out and let stories happen to you, and that you will work them, water them with your blood and tears and your laughter till they bloom, till you yourself burst into bloom. " ~Clarissa Pinkola Estes

Thursday, January 31, 2013

flawed, fabulous, gorgeous love

a story no one tells

... I'll be singing like an angel
Until I'm six feet deep.

small stone: day thirty-one

brown edges curl upward, veins frozen in time
reaching towards the breaking sun, much like my soul

(Thank you, readers, for traveling with me through this month's journey of mindful writing. It has been full of lessons, honor, and beauty.)

Wednesday, January 30, 2013

small stone: day thirty

Thick dove-grey clouds make a mad dash across the heavens. Little birds push against the wind, their bodies rising and dipping on the swirling currents. Rain spits down from the uncertain sky-  tiny drops of liquid that feel so cool on my skin in the warm, heavy air that presses against me. In the distance, a siren briefly wails its warning, only to fall silent again as danger wanes.

Tuesday, January 29, 2013

wings made of wishes

Don't let the blues stop you singing
Darling, you've only got a broken wing
Hey, you just hang on to my rainbow
Hang on to my rainbow
Hang on to my rainbow sleeves...

small stone: day twenty-nine

This little seed has struggled for so long and it is crying for nurturing and air.
It's tired of being squished up inside.
Reach for the sky, little seedling.
I'll not hold you back any longer.
Time to unfurl your leaves.
Time to let your flowers come forth.
Time to turn your face up to the sun.
It's time. It's time. It's time.

Monday, January 28, 2013

small stone: day twenty-eight

silent v flying overhead in a sky of grey
moving south
for a pond or a patch of winter grass
my heart soars with them
to destinations unknown

Sunday, January 27, 2013

small stone: day twenty-seven

There are days I curse my head.
The busy. The old tapes that incessantly play...
The could-haves, should-haves, would-haves,
if only.
Too many words, but not enough words.
Too much music, but never enough music.
Freedom calls to me like the birds that wing their way to somewhere,
Bring me there.
Give me those wings that will make me soar.
Loosen up my voice to fly on the wind.
Like those birds that wing their way to somewhere,
Bring me there.

Saturday, January 26, 2013

small stone: day twenty-six

Wispy clouds streak the robin's egg blue sky. Geese call raucously to each other as they fly in formation overhead. The sun infuses my soul with golden light and warmth. Giggles erupt from the toddler who sits to the side of me, in a rocket ship disguised as our Japanese Maple tree.

Friday, January 25, 2013

small stone: day twenty-five

The chill morning offers me its icy kisses,
taking my warmth in return.
The only movement in the grey clouds above
is the silent winging of four birds of prey.

Thursday, January 24, 2013

fire in the belly

small stone: day twenty-four

Bone-chilled for days.
Then: gorgeous words resonating in my head, a stunning meditation giving breath.
Finally, a glowing coal inside, warming me from within.
Hello, inner spark. I have missed you. Let us not become cold strangers again.

Wednesday, January 23, 2013

small stone: day twenty-three

Breaking dawn...
An owl hoots in greeting.
Midnight blue shifts gracefully to make way for the sun.

Tuesday, January 22, 2013

small stone: day twenty-two

My throat wants to open up in song but my voice can't break free.
My hips want to move, but the dance is frozen inside.
My hands want to write all the words they know my head contains, but nothing comes forth.

I feel landlocked, with a sea of things just waiting before me.

Saturday, January 19, 2013

small stone: day nineteen

Brilliant red-gold glory. The sun rises, turning the frost into a blanket of glitter. A lone bird flies over, its wings glinting in the breaking dawn.

Friday, January 18, 2013

small stone: day eighteen

Rays of sunshine broke free from their cloudy prison today. Warm, bright light... blue skies... icy bursts of air that cut through clothing, chilling and sharp. The dichotomy of the heat of the sun and the cold of the wind. Such is life, sometimes.

Thursday, January 17, 2013

small stone: day seventeen

there's something a bit obscene
about a lawn that is lush and green
when winter hangs cold and barren

Wednesday, January 16, 2013

small stone: day sixteen

I stand, bare feet in a puddle. The earth smells rich and damp; the air, crisp and fresh. Silvery drops cling to bare branches, then free fall to the ground. My face is tickled by feather-light, watery kisses. The sky has been falling for three days now... sweet, blessed rain.

Tuesday, January 15, 2013

gone tomorrow, gone yesterday

Long way going to
Get my medicine
Sky's the autumn grey of a lonely wren

small stone: day fifteen

Frustrations run high today.
With circumstances, with life... with myself.
Tears threaten to fall, but if they do, they may not stop.
Sinking into feeling.
And I don't want to go there.
Bury my head in the sand.
Encase my heart in stone.
Build the walls, tear them down, build them back up again.
Open, says my soul.
Open, says my heart.
The cracks are where the light gets in, they say...
But I'm not feeling the light today.
Just the shatter.

Monday, January 14, 2013

small stone: day fourteen

Her warm body snuggles close, her trusting face looking up at me. My eyes gaze down at her, holding a galaxy of love. My sweet little girl and I pull each other close... knowing that there will be many more moments just as precious as this one, but none will ever be this exact moment. Treasuring the sound of her little voice whispering, "I love you, Mama."

Saturday, January 12, 2013

a wish tossed in the sea

small stone: day twelve

Peppered with moss patches, the old sentinel still stands, strong and proud. Its twisted, gnarled branches reach tall into the sky and hang over the road. The misty fog wraps around the tree, and envelops my car as I drive past. A quiet moment of peace and history on a winter's morning.

Friday, January 11, 2013

small stone: day eleven

The air is thick... heavy for a January morn. Light raindrops fall as though being flicked from someone's fingertips high above. The grey surrounds me but does not penetrate my being. Inside, a small spark ignites. Ideas flutter in my head; promises of things to come.

Thursday, January 10, 2013

you spin me right round baby right round

My head is spinning with possibilities and the drive to "do", to learn, to create. There are so many things I want to explore and work on. They are all related, which is a fortunate blessing, but I find myself in a very familiar space of wondering how to do it all. Long term, short term, immediate. They all bombard me with, "Now! Now! Me, me... Pick me, pick me!"

Ah. Yes, I've been here before. ::looks around:: Yep, this is usually where I collapse, hide my head, come up with a dozen excuses, and end up not doing anything.

I need to push through this. I need to not let the pressure override my momentum.

Must. Keep. Going.

But it scares me.

Which, of course, means that I need to do it all the more. Like giving birth, I have no choice. I have to keep going, and eventually, I'll see the fruit of my labor.

Keep pushing.





small stone: day ten

chill black to midnight blue, wakening to shades of periwinkle
the sky lightens, bringing with it my heart
soul singing with the joy of a new dawn

Wednesday, January 9, 2013

the voices of those who stand looking

And as we wind on down the road
Our shadows taller than our soul.
There walks a lady we all know
Who shines white light and wants to show
How everything still turns to gold.
And if you listen very hard
The tune will come to you at last...

small stone: day nine

drums beat
hips sway
slow and gentle,
then staccato sharp
skirts fly
a dip, a turn
undulations to the music
a secret in the eyes,
music in the hands
a heartbeat
the dance

Tuesday, January 8, 2013

small stone: day eight

Crisp and grey, the day settles over me like the creaking bones of a crone. The dried leaves wave in the breeze-  the tattered ends of her shawl.

Monday, January 7, 2013

small stone: day seven

The well of inspiration runs a bit dry today; words won't come easily. The feeling of stagnation sits uneasily inside me. Oh, for a bit of fire in the head, fire in the heart, fire in the belly! 

Perhaps tomorrow The Muse will wrap her feathery arms about me, and whisper sweet somethings in my ear.

Sunday, January 6, 2013


small stone: day six

world spinning
aching for control
over something, over anything
siren's call to sweet emptiness
surrender, fade
until i shrink
into nothingness

Saturday, January 5, 2013

small stone: day five

Will you sing me the song of me
when my heart weighs heavy like stone?
Will you sing me the song of me
when my voice is caught up in webs?
Will you sing me the song of me?

And the voice whispers: Inhale. Exhale.
Your song is always there, floating around you,
as the sweet caress of a gentle breeze,
the wild embrace of a strong gale.

Friday, January 4, 2013

reach in and set it free

Poor little dreamer
Stand inside the door
You can't find the easy rhymes
Of times you had before

It hurts my heart so bad
Seeing you sigh and shake
Broken down so low - so sad
I can't let you break

Cry to me - Cry to me
You better not hide it
Let it come - let it bleed
I ain't laughing - reach in and get it
And set it free
Cry to me - Cry to me

The glass is empty and the wine
Is bitter on your tongue
People don't seen wild and fine
Like when you were young

You're lonesome over a stormy ocean
Lost in the rain and wind
We can clear these clouds away
And feel the sun again...

small stone: day four

Tendrils reach, feathery and curling. No roots to bind you. Living only through the air and sunlight that surround you. There is grace in your simplicity... sage green peace in your existence.

Thursday, January 3, 2013

small stone: day 3

Burst of scarlet red standing strong amid curling decay. Spot of brightness bringing warmth to the cold, both within and without. My heart gladdened by the flower that blooms in winter; the promise of things to come.

Wednesday, January 2, 2013

small stone: day two (mindful writing challenge 2013)

"Pickles", she said. "Pickles aren't for breakfast", said I.
And thought better of it.
So, pickles it was. Seedy tang. Spring green. Zesty, sharp. A bright contrast to a winter's morn. A sweet little face screwed up into a pucker.
Doing something unexpected.  In a small way, but sometimes the small ways matter most.

Tuesday, January 1, 2013

small stone day 1 (mindful writing challenge 2013)

Yesterday's coppery leaves still cling to the branches. This morning's raindrops hover next to them... shimmery, silvery  cleansing droplets. Both just waiting for the right moment to fall, to reach their next state of being upon the Earth.

Fall, embrace, become.