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Small stone, Vol 2, #14
The aroma of a good, full-bodied dark-roast coffee is, itself, enough to wake the mind. Filed under: A River of Stones, coffee, Portland, small stone, writing Tagged: A River of Stones, coffee,...
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Small stone, Vol 2, #15
No one is quite sure which is the greater mystery: why the devil beats his wife, or why we all enjoy it so much when he does. (Today, I walked in a sunshower.) Filed under: A River of Stones, small …...
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Small stone, Vol 2, #16
Of all the blessings I have received today, this cat in my lap is the most rewarding. Filed under: A River of Stones, small stone, writing Tagged: A River of Stones, small stone, writing
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Small stone, Vol 2, #17
A long, long silence. Open the phone, close it. Check the ringer. Longer silence still. All this patience, all this waiting: such an exercise. Then, late in the evening with a plane passing overhead in...
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Small stone, Vol 2, #18
In the park, at a picnic table, dusk settling in, corduroy blazer on, laptop open, chin on fist. I feel like such a writer, and such a poseur. Filed under: A River of Stones, small stone, writing...
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Small stone, Vol. 2, #19
Wind in the pines, the earthy scent of someone’s organic wheat bread overlaying the wash of rose petals and loose soil. Children giggling, a Korean woman translating a botanical label for her elderly...
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Small stone, Vol. 2, #20
Flag-themed fruit breakfast, bald eagle through a waterfall, grilled cheese and lemonade for lunch. Frisbee in the park surrounded by bikinied sunbathers and stocky, muscle-flexing softball players. A...
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Small stone, Vol. 2, #21
Dappled light, breeze through the parted lips of the driver’s window, soft voice of NPR whispering on the radio. Midday lullaby. Filed under: A River of Stones, small stone, writing Tagged: A River of...
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Small stone, Vol. 2, #22
Cold like a bullet, it rolls between my tongue and the roof of my mouth, that tiny jagged crown where the stem once was pressing a rough circle into my palate. It is so ripely firm it will not burst …...
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Small stone, Vol. 2, #23
The refrigerator gurgles and hums, the soft vibrato of the compressor like a brook on rocks; somewhere upstairs a neighbor runs their kitchen tap and the water rains down the building’s pipes, and I...
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