Being Human. small stone Day Two.

What I am is good enough if I would only be it openly. ~Carl Rogers

Satya writes: A couple of people have written about daring to write or post their first ever small stone. This is no small thing. And so here’s a post I wrote during our first mindful writing challenge, three years ago, which might help.

Do post your small stones in the comments section. Yesterday they were all beautiful. Keep noticing. Keep writing.

I don’t know about you, but I’m human.

This means that, for me, writing is rarely as straightforward as enjoying the process of paying attention.

Is anyone reading me? How many hits did we get today? Has anyone commented? Is it any good? Is it any good? Is it any good?????

Most of us writers write because we want to be read (you notebooking small stoners can feel very smug at this point). We have something to say, and we want people to hear it. There are a mix of motivations for this – I truly hope that my writing helps people in some way – but there are always ego-driven motivations somewhere in the mix.

How do we handle these aspects of the writing life?

I think it is helpful to feel okay about having these thoughts and feeling these feelings. Most of us do. Maybe if you’re brave enough you can admit to them in the comments section. I guarantee you’re not alone.

I also think it’s helpful to notice these ego-driven thoughts when they arise. Ah, there’s my crushing self-doubt again. Oh, hello old friend, ‘how many hits have I got’.

Finally, maybe it’s also okay to REALLY enjoy any positive feedback we do get from others. Take it in. Bask. Feed on it.

And to encourage ourselves too.

Writing things down can be a perilous task. We are exposing something of ourselves for everyone to see. Sometimes people will like our writing, and sometimes they won’t. Sometimes they’ll be kind, and sometimes they won’t. We need to learn to nurture ourselves through the ups and downs.

Here’s to being human, with all our frailties and arrogance and fear and mistakes and joy and beauty and wonder and love.


There’s still time to sign up to our Mindful Writing Booster if you’d like some extra encouragement, starting tomorrow…

Comments & replies

191 thoughts on “Being Human. small stone Day Two.

  1. Saille Falbh

    The cloudy umber sky
    caught my eye
    and made me sigh.
    I thought of tomorrow
    and tasted the tear
    that slid down my cheek.
    To cry? I try
    Not to.
    Chemo, half way through.

  2. Maggie

    A rush of water from the bathroom tap,
    His voice calling downstairs,
    A sneeze,
    The sound of packing.
    From my desk I can hear him.
    A tense knowing fills the air,
    The familiar feeling of losing him again.
    Ahead, a trip to the airport,
    His face as he disappears.
    He’ll wave a hand,
    Blow a kiss.
    I’ll return to the emptiness he has left behind

  3. Jacqueline

    River of Stones 2: Passed every day, noticed by few, Little Bird – No. 32 sits alone on the gravel drive.
    No longer an Elephant on Parade, she is lost in memories of the admiration she drew in 2010

  4. Patsy Goodsir

    Kettle on,
    flames dancing in the grate
    brighten up a sombre day.
    Relax, enjoy,
    for tomorrow reality returns.

  5. Heather Walker

    Two miniature rose buds, tightly curled,
    the promise of petals unfurled,
    a splash of pastel pink on winter’s arid palette.

  6. Lori

    This morning’s breakfast: hoppin’ John to warm up, left from New Years’ dinner. Rice, vivid yellow with turmeric, because I can. Blackeyed peas, scattered pinkish among the yellow. A curl of butter, and I add the top of a green onion, snipping with scissors. Last night it was hearty bowlfuls, for luck, with greens for money. This morning, a dainty glass dessert bowl. It’s enough. Breakfast hands you over to the remaining day. That’s all the luck I need right now.


    Awesome. amazing body able to shift so easily into a new routine. Hoping this watch is over. So that this awesome, amazing sleepy body can ease back into that old routine. Moving the fog and finding focus again.


    Awesome. amazing body able to shift so easily into a new routine. Hoping this watch is over. So that this awesome, amazing sleepy body can ease back into that old routine. Moving the fog and finding focus again.

  9. Annie

    3am. Sleepless. Night is still, even the dog is curled in his basket, snoring.
    Everyone asleep but me. Mind awake, alert, won’t shut down.
    Father Christmas is no longer climbing the window of the house opposite,
    Holiday is over, time to get back to work, then maybe nights will be for sleeping again.

  10. Elizabeth W

    I’m not a poet
    The dreamers path is difficult
    Give me facts
    Give me practical applications
    I struggle with myself!

  11. Kym

    Slender, elongated neck,
    smooth and thorn-ridden
    abruptly ends
    in a swift beheading.
    The open wound,
    a pale straw pith.
    Her mottled glory
    scattered, faded, dying,
    amongst lowly
    weedy worshippers.

  12. Beyond Back Creek

    My cut-and-paste isn’t working. You are very welcome to visit me to read the small stone for today. Thank you for this Challenge, it is exactly what I need right now.

  13. MHF

    I have finally polished my grandmother’s brasses. They have lain on the hearth for months, untouched, unwilling to let go of her. In the old remembered routine of polishing and buffing, I remember how much I loved these pieces all my life; in bright shining, she is with me. My heart aches with grief and joy.

  14. Karen F.

    I walk before the timeless dawn into the room dark but for lights from modern world flashing ‘pick me pick me’

  15. Freya Pickard

    Aftermath of stress leaves me sleepy, heavy-eyed, worn out, I feel hollow like my guts have been scooped out, fragile and so very weary
    © Freya Pickard 2013

  16. Srivati

    Listening for the spin cycle to end,
    waiting for the cue to go.
    I could be listening to now
    and stay,
    present to the moment.
    New Year, old habits.

  17. Caroline

    From the nursing home, comes the vented scent of tumbled laundry. It wraps a soft fleece around the yew and cedar. Dog walkers pass, kicking through blackened leaves and catch another aroma, reminiscent of safe and warm – that of soup. It has sage, but might need just a bit more thyme.

  18. Jan

    Empty house,
    still and peaceful.
    Only the hum of the computer’s fan,
    the sound of car tyres on a wet road
    coming through an open window.
    The soft scratch of my pen on a notebook.
    Time moves silently by,

  19. RB67

    It’s dark as night and cold to boot. The only light is the glare of the monitor. And I can think of a million places I’d rather be.

  20. johncroxon

    Exotic scents, dark panelled walls, rich red carpets, people hustle and bustle amongst expensive sounding teas.
    Outside a homeless person lays in a trash strewn doorway, a failed attempt to shelter the grey January rain

  21. Alyson Hurst

    the sky is white grey
    damp, miserable
    and there is sunshine in my heart
    stored there from a previous day
    filled with love

  22. Jade

    this sleepiness feels like wearing goggles
    and no prayers of mine have been said

    and then comes the sun’s prayer
    glittering the jeweled rosary:
    pink, gold, and green

  23. Debbie Grace

    Thank you for this blog post, Satya! I definitely relate to what you said, “writing is rarely as straightforward as enjoying the process of paying attention.”

    Also, “enough” is my word for 2013 so I was grateful for Carl Rogers new-to-me quote, too.

    Morning sunshine peeking thru a thick, sleepy blanket of clouds. Welcomed breakfast guests are her promise of warmth and light.

  24. Adara Bryn

    “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.

  25. Bill T.

    1/2: Tapestry

    “This made from skin of baobab,”
    she says, an Indian-South African
    shopkeeper. Green rhino, giraffe necks,
    imprinted by a wood-cut blocks,
    a tribal checkerboard for a mulungu
    to hang on a wall, to spark a convo.
    Among the animals, spirals of metal.
    “I broke a necklace,” she says, “sewd
    on pieces, by hand, for you, sir.”
    More impressed by story than art,
    I took it and she summoned her sad clerk
    from Zimbabwe to fetch thread
    and a needle to fix a wonky bead.
    I pulled rand from my pocket
    and took home a tree.

  26. Dr. Pearl Ketover Prilik (PKP)

    The cat in my arms finally rumbles and allows himself to purr. It has been two years coming. Finally. Finally.

  27. Amida Mosaic

    Bronchitis continues to soften the edges of my mind. It’s nice to take a break from the usual crispness of reality and to find myself as if floating in frothy vanilla shake.

  28. Susan Daniels

    snow strikes snow
    with the kiss of butterfly wings
    or the sound leaves make
    spiraled from the maple–

    sighed echoes of other seasons
    set gently in ice

  29. Terri E. Fizer

    My daughter lies back in the bath
    and when she rises
    her wet hair drips down her back.
    Her baby curls are gone,
    turned into little-girl hair:
    A look into the future
    that brings proud and mournful tears to my eyes.

  30. Jules

    Winter white
    Iridescent icicles
    Nightly nor’easters
    Trying tangents
    Extra efforts
    Routines return

    © JP/davh

  31. Janice Windle

    The Photograph

    Bleak winter blue of hazy sky.
    Flat horizon far away and featureless.
    Low rectangle of brick and ginger tile. Nearby
    the wooden garage like a child’s construction:
    a triangle a square. The drive
    a rhombus of perspective lines.
    A conifer stands like a guardsman in a bearskin.
    I know this is a home with warmth inside.
    I’ll soften this geometry, paint reality.

  32. breakingthings

    There is no need for pomegranate ferns or goddesses hiding in suitcases. Find the fragrant mind. Ask and it is given.

  33. Jeannie

    We had planned
    to swim;
    the ocean was deep
    blue from a distance.

    The wind took us by
    surprise, flinging our hair
    against our faces, gleefully
    sandblasting bare feet
    and cheeks once the
    safety of glass was

  34. Carolyn Abrams

    Icy cold crystals in the window
    Hot orange coals in the wood stove
    Crystals crackling, coals snapping
    This place, this chair
    Doesn’t get any better than this.

  35. Heartful

    Two for Joy

    A pair of magpies perch on bare branches of a Plane tree. As soon as I get my camera ready, they are gone.

  36. Leslie Waugh

    Sitting, trying to beckon an empty mind to appear
    and drown out the humming in between my ears.
    Sweeping the breath in and out
    to make room for silence
    as first one plane approaches, churns overhead and disappears,
    and later, another,
    while cars rumble below,
    each engine telling a different story
    over the plunk of the speedbump
    to the birds chirping in the trees
    and the cat purring at my knees.
    Sometimes the quiet is deafening.

  37. Donna

    5:07 AM…
    4.8 degrees…
    Two toasty blanketed horses lounging in the barn…
    One 46-year-old lady wearing multiple layers of clothes…
    Zero desire to be anywhere other than under her own electric blanket.

    Happily blogged about this wonderful challenge at – feel free to cast your stones there as well.

  38. Dana Norberg

    My neighbor’s brown pampas hedge shines like polished brass in the early morning sunlight. The air is crisp. The doves puff up against the cold.

  39. John Oliver

    Woke up to find that the email genie again had faithfully added many more to my inbox last night. I am glad I am wanted. I just wish some times I was a little less wanted.

  40. Martin Cordrey

    beneath the ripples of dawn
    a canalboats reflection
    becomes distorted

    On the digital wireless
    Bill Withers tells me there aint no sunshine.
    On the flat roof raucous rain.

  41. Sheila Hollinghead

    Beauty exists in the knots.
    Those that do not destroy
    strengthen and enhance
    that which already exists.
    Tough fibers flow
    and nourish the growing tree
    and now decorate our lives.

  42. Paul

    ‘Don’t lecture me,’ she says as I examine the picture on the pack. It’s a photo, like the wings of two angels, side by side. Michael and Lucifer. Life and death. ‘Just don’t,’ she says, heading for the door.

  43. Ellen Knight

    Writing a poem is like giving
    birth. You want to shout
    to the world, “Look! Look
    at this part of me!”

  44. Pritiwi

    Ginger kitten
    Slips through the cat flap.
    You can’t stay.
    I let her eat
    I push her out

  45. Jessaca Sears

    Zoom! Down the snowy hill she ride on her pink plastic disc. She has a plan for play today. Who needs those crummy boys anyway.

  46. Rosalind Broomhall

    The air mattress purred and the and the rose coloured duvet cocooned her frail 93-year-old frame. We listened to Mozart and the world outside
    Faded into irrelevance

  47. Joanna Paterson

    Finding a way to accept my human self as see-er, writer, and photographer is the main reason I’m here with you all writing these stones.

    There’s something as you say in noticing the feelings that writing (and for me photography) bring up in you, and being as soft in your gaze towards them as you are to things outside we are learning to notice so lovingly.

  48. Robbie Burton

    This crocheted blanket loops
    chocolate into
    custard into
    tomato into
    cream into
    sugar-white and the grey of cold tea.

  49. nan

    fluffy white flakes
    drift diagonally
    across the sky

    sparkling clear icicles
    hang down straight
    from roofs’ edges
    into points

    one black bird
    flies high

  50. Reading Pleasure

    Oh, this cold Harmattan night
    Lures me to snuggle up in bed with a warm cup of coffee, laced with a tot of brandy.

    I succumb

  51. helen hutchinson

    We are lacking a word for this dusktime, which brings the dogs out, damp, and quickens the rooks towards the wood. The trees are blackening against a wet white sky, when a car appears, haloed in its headlamps, bringing the holidaymakers home.

  52. Lisa

    everytime my husband rolls over
    a cold draft snakes its way up
    under the thick blankets
    and I sleepily mutter,
    “don’t disturb my covers!”


  53. Dancin' Clown

    Sitting in relative silence poised to capture sensations
    Noticing the many sources of noise including thoughts
    My mind suddenly goes silent at the blank page.

  54. Hannah

    Startled from bridge arch-
    flocked pigeons swoop past wall’s edge;
    flight shadowed on brick.

    Copyright © Hannah Gosselin 2013

    Of course “edge,” should reside on line two. 🙂

  55. Gillian

    The Christmas-fragranced fart slipped out with a trumpetesque rasp. Its producer failed in his bid to stifle a guffaw of merriment.Downward glances and concealed smiles followed from all those who heard it.

  56. Dawn Z

    Crisp blue sky, black trees reaching up like gnarled clutching fingers. They too want to touch the sun.

  57. Kathy Marie

    In the midst of a pile of clutter, a sign of confusion and disarray, the sun bursts forth through the window and seeks out the lonely, half-buried prayer card … a reassuring sign of calm, clear-thinking, guidance and hope.

  58. Judi

    The sky shades from grey overhead to pearl at the horizon. Under the beech trees, the ground is rusty with the last-but-one year’s leaves.

  59. Tai

    I decided to peek around some corners, slip the end of the blinds up, push the cracked doors a bit. And I see all things delightful and true. A big sister tucking the loose ends of her favorite blanket under his chin. Don’t want the cold to get in she says. A marker being adjusted in a tiny hand as he writes his name. The office chair making room for two tushies and the mouse being guided by two small hands.

  60. Word in the Hand

    Morning Mass at Carmel
    The Sisters sang the Gloria
    And afterwards offered breakfast
    whilst we complained about the state of the world

  61. bob

    Arrive home from the gym,
    an ink spot blooming on my jeans.

    Try to decode Rorschach’s message on my thigh before stepping into the second shower of the hour.

    Two eyes and a smudge of a smirk, chiding —
    ‘your resolution should have been
    no more cheap biros.’

  62. Raquel Castellón

    The blue sky, bright, without clouds.I feel like this, happy, without any worry or sadness. Free.

  63. Jennifer K Dick

    La Grande Roue is a bright half-moon beside Eiffel’s golden tower with its cyclops eye beaming out over the dark city and not far off tiny lights climb la tour Montparnasse like a whisper from up here atop Parc Belleville where I soar out over sleeping Paris—in the deep night inhaling my own memory of what was.

  64. Julie Singleton

    Voices murmur in the next room. Soft vowels fuse into warm streams that meld with the sluggish tick of the clock. Daydreaming, I lean against the smooth wall, feel the vibration of words through stone. A litany; a prayer.

  65. Caroline H

    The back door is opened and the black cat bounds in, encompassed by a shiver of cool air. She makes straight for her food bowl, leaving a neat path of wet paw prints across the kitchen floor.

  66. Pattie Mulderig

    Silence isn’t really silent.
    I hear the low hum of electricity and
    the cheery click every once in awhile from my coffeemaker.
    The oven beeps to let me know it’s pre-heated,
    while the laptop’s fan sings it’s hushed song.
    The house creaks, groans, and sighs,
    taking every opportunity to voice it’s opinion.
    Silence is a lie.

  67. sylvia

    confused, a baby squirrel
    runs back and forth, then back again
    by the wheel of the car in front of me
    traffic, unaware of the little ball
    of fur left in the street,
    continues down Wade Avenue.

  68. sujatin

    rain streaked window

    blurs the tree

    across the street –

    no brightness,

    sharpness, of limb

    against the sky.

    all is soft,

    grey shades,


  69. Geri Greene

    “you no longer look at me as your hero,” he said as he walked across the crushed and bleeding heart that could no longer weep

  70. Jessica Fox-Wilson

    13 Degrees

    On my right, a brown squirrel darts
    across the crust of packed snow,
    takes cover under a tree.

    On my left, a motionless brown form,
    an arc of a tail frozen in the air.
    As I near, I see

    a clump of dead leaves,
    a lone branch curved out of the mass.

    My breath pools in vapor trails before me.

  71. Cathi Christmus/seanchaidh

    Painful limbs on a cold, grey morning. I offer you the intention of warmth, energy, and light. The gratitude of your smile means more than the words you struggle to say.

  72. Anna

    Oh goodness the sea is so vast I feel helpless when your voice comes mangled through my cheap speakers. I press pause because I hear something pained and honest in it that our years of pixelated letters failed to transmit. It’s like you knew about the secret poem I wrote last month about wanting to drink coffee with you and forgetting your accent. My voice is present for you through my poetry I just have your sketches which bring up gestures.

  73. Barb

    pale sun in ice-crystal halo
    vapors of breath frosting my cheeks
    my body clenching like a fist
    folded into its own puny warmth
    thoughts dwell on flickering fires
    fleecy blankets and hot chocolate
    mind over matter failing
    I shiver and endure

  74. HJM

    A tiny bird sings in the grey gloom of the chill Winter morning and I realise that yearning for the promises of tomorrow might cause us to miss the bounty of today.

  75. NanLeah

    Awakening to my inner sunrise;
    meditation the soil in which I sow seeds of intention.
    Through yoga, I cultivate, planting my body firmly on the earth.
    Through stillness, I grow in my day.

  76. Marion Ueckermann

    The day was filled with paper, paper, paper. From tiny business cards, to A4 printed pages, to newspaper size internal magazines. Filing day at work. Cleaning out in preparation for the new year. Turning over a new page, for a new year, so to speak. Letters, presentations, emails, all printed, and I begin to wonder, as I survey my boss’s office looking like it has snowed A4 sheets of white, whatever happened to the electronic age?

  77. verysmallstones

    The Pain of Worry
    “It’s harder when it’s your daughter” she tries to say, but her voice breaks on the last work, her throat thick with worry. Tears pool in her eyes and she swallows hard.

  78. Kris

    Fat, gray, fuzzy cat ball
    save for an ear twitch
    no doubt, flicking the imaginary fly
    pestering me
    as I try to sit quietly and work

  79. Catherine van Vliet-Saivres

    A rather sad discovery
    walking the dog on the hill,
    two thrown away foxes,
    one brown the other golden,
    tails cut off,

  80. Helen

    She threw back her head as she laughed at her own words, he looked down at the floor. They let go hands when they turned off the pavement and into the cafe. Their specs steamed up in the ease of warm air.

    They found a table and sat down. Fog looked into fog, watching for it to lift. Only then did talking resume.

    His took far longer to clear than hers.

    (Any chance of including a link to these daily posting pages in the emails? That would be SO helpful. Thanks.)

  81. Lorelei

    Side-stepping to the dark window, avoiding left hip treachery, cane braced, I see two striped skunks flirting their tails and walking daintily into the bushes.

  82. Hagthorn

    Another flapping umbrella
    dumped in a hedge
    catching my eye.

    Unhooking the black fabric
    it becomes bats wings, crows feathers
    waiting to fly.

  83. PCNiles

    Midday sun rays stream through south facing windows.
    Everything feels warmed.
    The cats lay about,
    patterns on the carpet.
    Furred abdomens slowly rise and fall.
    Far away, clouds accumulate.

  84. Lori

    Vast spaces of grass
    Untouched natural beauty
    Rolling brown hills
    Only two horses
    Stroll upon.

  85. betweenthewords

    January 2, 2013

    Walking around the lake, I see the birds lined up along the shore. They look this way and that, noticing everything…each other…their friends on the lake, but not the people. They live in the moment, but it is a bird’s moment.

  86. Daman/Keith Jones

    The head and shoulders picture of the young man was beautiful, at my eye level and tattooed on the forearm of a mature woman up a supermarket ladder tidying the birthday cakes . Her son had died eighteen months ago and this way she could still softly touch him.

  87. Laurie Granieri

    A sleeve of smoke pulled from the chimney, slinking, sinuous as a woman’s swaying hips, rising and dissipating, released this night from bricks, from mortar, to a dusky sky.

  88. Trinny

    Chocolate strawberries, a glass of wine, bubble bath, and plenty of time, soft pajamas, flannel sheets, a good book to read, and 40 more winks?

    POP! Goes the daydream!

    It’s 5 a.m. I wake up stressed, with PMS, and my hair’s a mess. There are two sleepy kids who don’t want to get dressed. I’m old. It’s cold.

    Meanwhile, over in the corner, I hear the soft sound of the cat puking in the floor.

  89. Old Miss Lavendar

    There was a sense of hurry in the supermarket this evening. As distracted shoppers shopped, carts bumped against carts. Pieces of cardboard fell from a half-empty display. I steered clear, and obeyed the rules of the aisle.

  90. Mary

    she sang, “don’t lose yourself, don’t let yourself be lost”
    and the boom and rattle of four thousand pounds of steel
    shook to the beat of the bass

    (still 1/2/13 here!)

  91. Gina Anderson

    I have a funny hat.

    I like it a lot.

    I like to play with the dangling tassels.

    Maybe it was meant to be worn by someone half my age, but the critter on my head is older than me, and really, I’m just a big kid at heart. 😉

  92. Larry Piper

    The birthday girl, now 104,
    knows her family’s names,
    but seems unsure which is which.
    Calls that girl in the picture
    by her grand daughter’s name,
    then later by that of her daughter-in-law.
    But it’s actually her own daughter.
    Daughters of all types meld into one.

  93. steelepierce

    Night fog: Quick white wisps, then sudden thickness. A blanket wraps the windshield. Startled, we miss our street. Adrenaline and nervous laughter. A cautious turn to head back home.

  94. Nancy

    “Woke to melody floating through drowsy, held by the dark room, head. A word or two, here and there dropping in. Words and melody of the childhood lullaby, written by the favorite aunt, sung by the beloved Mama. Later sung to own children, still later daughter sings to son. Laying still for moments, embraced by deep love, inner light, melancholy seeps in.”
    January 2, 2013

  95. Anonymous

    snow squeaks in time with the crunch of my boots
    winter march percussion

    – Maureen Bailey

  96. Queen Bee

    Black-eyed peas bobbing on their backs
    in waves of warm rolling broth.
    Midwinter rose presses
    against steamy kitchen window
    her cheeks pinched pink in frosty air.

  97. Lorna Cahall

    Field Notes

    Underneath the snow,
    ice packed, endless waiting
    of brush, scrub, grasses, seed.
    It’s not always that friendly
    this planet with its hard moods.

  98. carahart

    cool glass, transparent, colorless, pressed against my wrist. the tabletop, like water, draws the heat from my thirsty skin. like water, it mirrors back a ghostly semblance of my face, holding the image somewhere under the surface and out of reach.

  99. johncroxon

    Buried in a warm bundle of duvets,
    my body stirs to life,
    joints aching,
    arms numb,
    fingers sting,
    Slowly I reach for the blankets, wiggling my toes to clear the numbness of pins and needles.
    In the distance a lone bird sings.

  100. Martin Cordrey

    new leaves
    on spindly trees
    bounce, skip, in a misty breeze

    miles from the coast
    a sea mist has devoured
    the woodlands, Oasts, ploughed fields

  101. Siggi in Downeast Maine

    I have written 3 days of stones…
    and thank you for today post that all don’t have to be happy…
    I had that question…
    my question,
    am I supposed to link them from some place.
    I am really a dummy when it comes to computers and blogs…have no idea how to put a badge on my page on the side yet. Sigh

  102. Martin Cordrey

    sheets of opaque clouds
    tie themselves
    in knots of grey shades

    Canary Wharf at dawn –
    the money towers reflecting
    on muddy waters

  103. Siggi in Downeast Maine

    Day two


    Friends of mine:
    Joan and Ralph will be
    great grandparents
    and Bethany will be a
    grand mother
    for the first time !
    And first child for
    Autumn and Josiah
    Grand baby on the way
    Josiah, Autumn so happy
    Announced on Face Book !


    Post office comes first
    weather outside is frightful
    shovel those mailboxes
    saw truck stop road side
    man shoveling out mail box
    plowed snow like cement
    in rear view mirror
    truck turning made my heart sing
    plowed snow from mail box

  104. estrella05azul

    Smallstone #2.

    The peaceful twinkling of one hundred tiny lights enveloping the Christmas tree,
    The reflection of cherished books, paintings and the rest of the surroundings of the room off of shiny ornaments,
    Some of the open presents placed under branches dressed in tinsel,
    bring me to realize I haven’t been home much this Christmastime to actually enjoy their beauty…

  105. sleepwriter

    I mirror the universe. As I step into the night with my dog, Orion with Canis Major at his heel, is striding across the sky. (2 Jan)

  106. deb winans

    My holiday dwindles back to reality
    Savor the last few hours
    For tomorrow the alarm will insist I return to work
    Ask not for whom the bell tolls

  107. raw poetry by donna snyder

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