A small stone is a short piece of writing capturing a fully-engaged moment. There are no strict rules. The process is as important as the finished product. Just keep your senses and your mind on the alert and open to possibilities. Then gather some stones!
I will be posting small stones in January. It's a journey of discovery. You are welcome to comment if you like (or even dislike!) any of them. They will be labeled by date.
This project is part of A River of Stones. Check it out! Better yet, join in!
As I sat watching the ball drop on New Year’s Eve it occurred to me that I was seeing the beginning and the end…at the same time.
I watch as you put on your plastic face of authority. You puff up like a balloon, filled with the air of self importance. You begin to speak lies, feigning intelligence. That's when I realize you'll always be your same disgusting self.
The bright moon cast its orange shadow on the restless clouds.
The light on the tower warns the aircraft like a lighthouse in an ocean of sand.
The Santa Mug on the mantle smiles at nothing and has no idea he is about to disappear until another December.
Our Christmas tree is decorated in patchwork, each ornament connected to the others in a crazy way, creating a blanket of memories.
She wished on a star. She crossed her fingers. She found her lucky penny. Good fortune was hers! There was a snow day!
The snow crowned vehicles travel towards her, lights on under frozen eyebrows, grinning through slush mustaches and beards.
Oh no. Ew. Yuck. Gross. Ick…Grandsons! Raise the seat!
The majestic mountains, usually clothed in a verdant carpet, are now bare, their charred stick figures dotting the landscape like stubble on a five o'clock chin.
I walked into the building and noticed a definite chill in the air. At first I thought the thermostats must be broken. Then I realized it was all the cold shoulders.
I bite the end of a giant hot tamale candy, full of cinnamon flavor, burning my lips and tongue. I’ll have another please.
There’s no better surprise than to stick your hand in a pocket of a jacket worn last season and find a $5.00 bill!
As soon as they realize you can talk they spend the rest of your life telling you to listen.
As I walked into the room I realized I'd seen them all before. Except for their faces.
Happy birthday to you they cried as she blew out the candles. All the while she was thinking how fortunate she was that she'd bought another birthday.
She cringed as she stepped. There was a 'squishy' feeling and she hesitated, afraid to look
at the gift her cat left.
It's a strange feeling to walk into a crowded room and realize you are all alone.
One toe peeking out of the bubbles at the end of the bathtub, semi-covered in last season's polish. Spring is coming. Time for a pedicure!
She drives the same straight path everyday while the words go round in circles in her head never quite reaching their final destination.
There was a loud commotion in the hall. Once, she's have investigated to find out what was going on. Now she felt too old to be curious.
She was trying hard to be alert. the words, about dollars, were depreciating before their
true value hit her brain.
The cookie was beautiful. Decorated, like a master's painting, it was too pretty to eat.
The fog enveloped her, closing like fingers across her eyes until she couldn't see her own
hand in front of her face.
The clock in the car did not spring forward. It was a cruel reminder of what time it really was.
A new day unfolds like pink satin spreading across the horizon.