Belated stones of July

Ok, so I think this proves either that I'm incapable of a sustained project in the summer or that this particular summer got the upper hand over me. I basically managed almost no small stones for July, but here are the few that have been rattling around in my bookbag...

pebble 1

winds rising --
in the middle of the sidewalk
a single shoe

pebble 2

mossy shingles --
a sparrow calls from the sycamore

pebble 3

the high bounce of my eraser
as if trying to come back to the desk,
to have another chance...

A river of summer stones

Making a go of July at the second iteration of this project. Will see how well I can remember to stay attuned, and how my glimpses are different in summer than in winter.

Day 2

a pleasantly cool morning
soft breeze in the trees and against the skin
from the rooftops, sparrows shout back and forth
as if energized to get things underway

Day 3

reading aloud;
she scoots closer
for the scary part

Day 4

patio grilling ---
the shared relief
as the A/C compressor goes off

A quiet book

I much enjoyed the January project of trying to notice/write one brief thing every day (see, e.g., these) -- made me realize how seldom these days I exercise the discipline of putting words to observations, something I love. Anyway, turns out that the organizers were so overwhelmed by the result of their project that they put together a book, which culls some of the most satisfying pebbles and mixes them with a few quotes and observations to make what looks like a great way to dip into the quiet moments in other people's days. Worth a look!



(Note: I make no money from this project in any way.)

Late pebbles

Snow and exhaustion continue to dog the start of my year, make the weeks hard to imagine and the time fly jumpily. Intermittant blogging and even more intermittant observation, I fear.

Day 27

from around the manhole cover
steam rises in pulses
as though beneath the sidewalk
a dragon sleeps...

Day 28

the street untouched
in inch-deep snow --
almost loath
to leave my doorstep
and mark my passing

Day 29

The bushes are flattened as though a giant had sat on them --
some bounce back once freed from their heavy loads of snow,
but others still hang low, limbs broken or bent for good.
So winter leaves its mark on us all.

Icy pebbles

Day 22

amid the romping dogs
motionless forms of their huddled owners

Day 23

Catching the wind for an instant
the leaf jerks forward
like a nervous iguana
across the snow

Day 24

In the subway station, the man on the stairs behind me sings, "I'll catch the next one" in the sing-song usually reserved for mocking (naah naah...), but softly. Is he defying the Fates?

Gathering no moss (Small stones, Day 21)

For no apparent reason this morning, flashes of recall of two grandmothers. Me set up with a snack tray on the screened-in porch while she mends and he reads the paper; the magic of a musty drawer full of things collected to fuel my imaginings. A cup of tea for three generations of ladies, discussing books; her amazement at the prowess of my generation with all things. Two grandmothers who in different ways made me feel capable of anything, interesting, followed with admiration.

Impossible to know what pebbles catch as the river flows by. What will my daughter recall of our house and its ways, of her grandparents, or any of the rest? How will she be polished?

Loose pebbles

Have gotten a little away from this project, but here are some efforts from the last week...

Day 12

the short path of snowflakes
under a streetlight ---
evening hush

Day 15

the open expanse of an empty desk: inviting or bleak, depending on one's mood...

Day 17

the birch and dogwood
fused by ice
where their branch tips touch

Day 18

my boots make a shush-crunch with every step
in the newly fallen slush

More pebbles

Day 9

the bed so warm
when I crawl back in

Day 10

rushing back out with bread --
the sparrows already gone

Day 11

Morning light softens the city -- a haze of horizon pink reflects on edges of silver-blue skyscrapers, harmonizes the smudges of brick, calls to our forgiving natures...

Latest pebbles

Day 6

The old man moves his hands
in an energetic conversation
only he can hear.

Day 7

in a dim room
unsure of what woke me
until she cries again

Day 8

through my windows
snowflakes growing larger
silently

More pebbles

Day 4

pink glow of morning over the rooftops --
black branches sharp against the blue

Day 5

a wordless smile
from the next person in line
at the library return box

Something new: A river of stones

Am going to try joining this project, which encourages the observation and recording of one sharply observed moment (small stone) per day for the month of January. Don't know if I'll manage either to record or blog them every day, but will do my best -- a good start to the year and maybe a way of finding my way back to my haiku self too.

Day 1

How gently she covers each snowball with a blanket of loose snow. Whiteness against green and brown.

Day 2

Smaller somehow
the newly bare Christmas tree

Day 3

The cat arches into my hand,
then steps away