Day 10: January Mindful Writing Challenge

Glowing by Noahwhite fog creeps through the trees breathing eucalyptus in my nose

Mark Kaplon

*

We’re on the tenth day of the January Mindful Writing Challenge - please post your small stone in the comments below. If you’re not already signed up, our 31 Days of Waking Up daily email package was designed to accompany you during this (or any) month of mindful writing. Keep writing!

Glowing by Noah

Comments & replies

72 thoughts on “Day 10: January Mindful Writing Challenge

  1. Jean S

    Tick. Tock.
    Breathing out.
    Neighbor’s muffled TV.
    A swish of a passing car.
    Return to breathing…
    In and out.
    Thich. Tock. Hmm.

    Reply
  2. Brinda

    *******

    reviewing figures
    of receipts and bills
    days and months
    fit in the squares
    on the blank sheets
    as if they have a will
    of their own, a sequence
    cast in the hall of fame
    for figures, some, fiery
    some insignificant,
    some hungry for
    acceptance and appreciation
    and some, completely
    repulsive, while some, still
    get our approval
    But, Oh! how so few…

    ******

    Reply
  3. Angela

    how lucky I feel this morning. ignored the noise in the night. woke up to find burnt out plug. no lights, what to do? the wonders of the fuse box scare me. wait and think what to do. what a way to start the day. outside I see the sun. thank you.

    Reply
  4. Mark Sargeant

    evening softness, street lights glowing pink-orange
    sound of a tram in the distance – ‘ding ding’
    sweet leaves rustling & a cup of Tulsi tea in my hands

    Reply
  5. oakhart

    Today’s an angry day,

    An ‘I’d rather stay

    Under the duvet kind of day’.

    It snaps at my heels,

    Whipping me into action,

    Pulling me into

    A space I’d rather not be.

    But…

    As the in-breath comes,

    I pause

    And smile,

    At the little girl

    Who masks her despair,

    With a glued on smile

    And her willingness to dance

    To some-one else’s tune,

    Until now.

    Reply
    1. JulesPaige

      I’ve been there…trying to get out from under…most days I succeed – now
      but another storm brews. Sometimes we must be willing to get out of our own way.

      Reply
  6. JulesPaige

    a tanka:
    fluctuations
    *
    foggy sky foretells
    change in the weather, again
    moon weakly shines through
    *
    warm enough for morning snow
    soon will melt on the ‘morrow
    *
    ©JP/davh

    Reply
  7. Dorothee

    in the middle of morning
    traffic commotion:
    a car with a number plate
    that says OM
    *
    (which made me realize that OM is right there, inside of any cOMmotion, always)

    Reply
  8. Kay Walker

    Sleepy morning
    Mmmm coffee wafting in
    Fire to start in wood stove
    Shovel snow path to the horses
    Feel their warm breath
    Sun breaking in the east
    Glorious

    No wood stove and horses now, aaahhh, such sweet memories.
    Life is abundantlyl glorious and I live in gratitude.

    Reply
  9. Litsa

    I watch you cat, calm and reserved, clothed in infinite patience. I sit still and let my mind wander until it stills, calms and for a moment exists in infinite patience.

    Reply
  10. Andrea

    At the Entrance to a Crowded Restaurant at Dinnertime

    The overweight man outed us; “I’ll leave, so five people can come in.”

    Reply
  11. Allison Shapiro

    Pearl Gray doves lift their wings and become one across the horizon
    Soft Feathery droplets float gracefully to earth
    Light rises above.

    Reply
  12. larry p

    “The ground was covered with a pile of pledgets”, I read.
    Wondering what a pledget might be, I check the dictionary;
    I’m told that a pledget is a little cotton ball,
    generally used to sop up medical discharges.
    More interesting is the next entry, pleiad.
    A pleiad, it seems, is a collection of seven things.
    A string of my “car cranes” comprises a pleiad of cranes.
    Until this week, my rear-view mirror
    sported seven crane strings: a pleiad of crane pleiads.
    No longer, just this week, I added
    a pleiad of pink, baby cranes.

    Reply
  13. Nicole

    Doing all the things I was supposed to do…
    feeling good about it.
    Happy to have someone working with me
    Opening my eyes, making my mind function at it’s best,
    I don’t know what name I should give him
    God ? Angel ? Writing elf ?
    What ever… Thank you who ever you are !

    Reply
  14. Pam Niles

    A good memory may be a blessing, may also be a torment when, year after year, the turning of calendar pages conjure up remembrances of loss, of lives and events no longer, of deaths forevermore. Today, the date reminds me of a pair of green eyes peering from a narrow pointed face on a four paws frame. In recalling my little Dorian, my heartbeat slows, seems to recoil deeper into the cavernous space within my own vibrant body, where in thought only I’m reliving the feel of his silver fur, the vibration of his ever-present purr, the heft of his weight on my lap during those evenings we shared, seemingly endless, he competing with the book in my hands, burrowing stubbornly down, where he’d remain undisturbed, I’m relieved to say, for hours. This memory now canonizes the love and companionship we shared, its ephemeral substance breaching a former time and space for just one sad yet sweet present moment, extending—not really—his too few years of life.

    Reply
  15. SM Jenkin

    White plastic bags, full beyond
    brimming, filled some more;
    lined up in front of the window. A woman
    walks past, alone, from her dryer to the
    wooden bench with an empty hand.
    Her laundry spins.

    Reply
  16. Jennifer

    Ensconsed, at last, in Winter sleep, deep and lovely. The pattering of the rain; scrub jay screech. Hummingbird avails herself of rosemary’s blue-purple trumpets.

    Reply
  17. Hajra

    A glass apple sits on the wooden shelf in my study…
    It’s not very pretty…
    Yet when the sunlight touches it…
    It becomes an over enthusiastic prism…
    For my wall and ceiling becomes its canvas…
    Where it splashes little images of the rainbow…
    And the room is flooded with wondeful color…
    Violet, blue, red, green, yellow…

    Reply
  18. Fay

    Many thanks for fixing the comments problem some of us have been experiencing Kaspa.
    My small stones so far…
    01.01.14
    For hours
    I have gazed
    at cascading water droplets

    02.01.14
    Meleanos
    You lay softly in my arms.

    03.01.14
    Journey to the Henge:
    Slate grey,
    elemental sky
    punctuated by grey-wether sarsens

    04.01.14
    At the National Portrait Gallery, London:
    We file, en mass
    past portraits
    hung in a large white room.
    Gazing into the faces of strangers.
    Trying to see something of ourselves in the frame.

    05.01.14
    Cycling
    into a headwind
    is exhilarating !

    06.01.14
    Creating space
    For yoga
    For peace
    For ease

    07.01.14
    The outside world
    Feels elusive today

    08.01.14
    Today …..
    The blank page
    is a powerful force
    that resists inscription

    09.01.14
    I gaze for a moment
    At the flooded river path I cycle along
    Then continue my journey
    Along another route

    10.01.14
    Hyacinth flowers
    slowly emerge
    from their bulbous slumber

    Reply
  19. Gary Hewitt

    White temple of boiling liquid
    Patience required before daring entry
    Body dropped, all is intact
    Dunking over, devour, then drink

    Reply
  20. De Jackson

    Catching up again (all days so far are on my blog).

    small stonings

    Jan. 8
    some dreams die small,
    crackled leaves on branches
    unaware of mourning. i rub
    them between my fingers, make
    them once again one with the earth.

    Jan. 9
    thrown high, the sky’s
    a perfect brilliant
    blue.
    but i, thrown too, am
    partly cloudy.

    Jan. 10
    even the smallest of shards
    have sharp edges. see that
    groove there, this ancient
    layered shine? these pockets
    were made for tucking ache,
    loosing fear, re-carving what
    is mine.

    Reply
  21. Carol A. Stephen

    Jan. 10, 2014

    …Nothing belongs to us. – Rainer Maria Rilke

    Words to craft poems
    don’t belong to me. They’re
    the same words of poets past,
    of poets yet to come.

    I share my words with others.
    Only their order on the page
    makes them, for a moment, mine.

    Even the time I live on
    borrowed, gift of a surgical knife.

    –CAS

    Reply
  22. Sharon Black

    In the space vacated by the Christmas tree
    I hook up a carabiner,
    unroll my hammock, add a cushion
    for my feet – creaking to
    and fro, I exhale
    two weeks of festive cheer, watch
    the ageing pines defy the wind.

    Reply
  23. Joan

    #smallstones 10

    “Fog,

    our fog,

    unlike Sandburg’s fog,

    doesn’t tiptoe in on little cat feet;

    It stalks,

    it hunts us down

    like prey and then it leaps,

    springs upon us,

    pouncing

    upon us

    before attacking,

    devouring, and covering us

    as it were a giant jungle cat

    making sure its prey did not get away.

    Like Sandburg’s “Fog”, it too is silent

    but no less deadly for all that.

    Escape seemed impossible

    but we made it back home

    still breathing, though our hearts

    beat double time.”

    Reply
  24. Pookie

    Flooded lochs and deep rivers so still today
    Reflect my pensive mood and display a
    Tranquility that belies the hidden complexity
    Of emotion

    Reply
  25. Linda

    I awake to the twittering of busy birds outside my open window. It is so much easier to get up and meet the day with those encouraging sounds.

    Reply
  26. sue

    Neither dark nor light,
    neither warm nor cold,
    lingering to breath
    moisture laden air,
    mild January twilight.

    January 10, 2014
    #smallstone

    Reply
  27. Sherilee

    Dear Gratitude, Thanks for being with me all these years. Even when you are quiet, you’re still around, and I appreciate that you’re not always chirping away at me. Sometimes I just want to sit with you for a bit, and you always let me. I really don’t know what I’d do without you. Your pal, Sherilee

    Reply
  28. beverley

    It’s a pink box, a round box, full of fluted paper crowns, empty of the confection that cracked at first bite into a deep dense dark paste. It’s a box to hold quilting pins or paper clips or promises and tokens.

    Reply
  29. S.E.Ingraham

    January 10,2014

    ON LINE

    Strangers, we talk of the most intimate matters
    as we wait for our flu shots; how much we both
    crave a cigarette – I have been a non-smoker over
    three decades – she, less than three weeks. The
    lines in her face weave a story of a life hard-lived
    and I am interested to learn much of it while we
    wait to get poked.

    Reply
  30. Nina

    I pull my clothes on in an attempt to make myself
    feel awake.
    Technically I have got up.
    I am wearing a combination of clothing
    I would never brave the outside world in,
    I am comfy.
    I have not restricted myself into too tight for
    me undergarments or bothered to cover
    my naked feet in socks.
    There is no need as I spend the day
    beneath a blanket
    and sleep.

    Reply
  

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