Day 24: January Mindful Writing Challenge

snowfresh snowfall –
shadows of bare branches
crisscross erased paths

*

Theresa A. Cancro

 

We’re on the fifteenth 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!

 

image: Attribution Some rights reserved by Colynn

Comments & replies

72 thoughts on “Day 24: January Mindful Writing Challenge

  1. Linda

    In our garage today,
    a baby black-headed brown snake;
    an Australian Eastern Brown.
    Cute – unless you know that
    its venom is the second most deadly in the word,
    and even a baby snake has enough to kill.
    We did not kill it;
    it also deserves a chance.

    Reply
  2. Brinda

    **********

    in this dark blue sky
    a blank canvas
    the moon smiles

    clouds whiter than white
    cinnamon sticks swollen
    with sticky syrup

    a motorcycle roars
    with its fumes spiralling
    the sky more distant than ever

    chinese lanterns sit
    with papaya and oranges
    filling the air with a mild fragrance

    lights flicker gently
    while the winds shake across
    the cheeks of the earth somewhere

    **********

    Reply
  3. Kay Walker

    Ancestors drum the elders in
    Do you hear the call?
    Dancing to the rhythmic beat
    Their hearts embrace it all
    Love and joy and fear are there
    Teachers of this life
    Elders learned the lessons true
    Sharing love and strife

    Reply
  4. Dorothee

    (in perfect timing with the snow photo & line..)

    while we have breakfast
    the rain turns to snow
    for the first time this winter

    – we sit and watch
    the white falling, prolonging
    this moment

    Reply
  5. Angela

    outside the wind is raging. I must go out! but I don’t want to and equally I don’t want to succumb to the part of my self that puts things off only to regret it later. But it really is windy and cold. What to do?

    Reply
  6. Susan Sleepwriter

    I contemplate the length
    of a mindful moment
    one breath or five,
    the stretch of muscle
    to place one foot after the other
    the length of the leaf-strewn path.

    Reply
  7. Nicole

    Day twenty four
    I realise I haven’t much to say…
    As I spend most of my time alone
    Lying on a couch facing a window
    Looking at some trees and busy birds

    This daily exercise makes me notice
    how much my life is down to so little
    Lying on my couch facing the window
    Was this challenge a very good idea ?
    Sadness comes with realisation…

    Reply
      1. Nicole

        :) I don’t like feeling sad…
        I have been sick for over 3 years now and made the choice
        to be happy what ever…
        But taking this challenge is a kind of stone on the road
        I won’t let it make me fall ! :)
        In another way it really makes me use my imagination :
        what can I talk about next ?
        :)

        Reply
  8. Pookie

    Dragged early and unwillingly from the depths
    Of sleep, pulling
    Consciousness in from the distant coils
    Of my mind, resistant
    As the reluctant tinned treacle is
    Of the wooden spoon

    Reply
  9. Maaike Klaster

    Chaotic sounds fill up the room, music and beeping intertwined. Red luminiscent lettering.
    Alarmclock that’s gone off with a “click”, saying it’s 9:11.

    Reply
  10. JulesPaige

    a tanka:
    HONK’her
    *
    she weighs one pound less
    than her grampa’s bowling ball
    she is six months old
    *
    he’s a hands on guy – holds her
    with care as she beeps his nose
    *
    ©JP/davh

    Reply
    1. JulesPaige

      Thanks for the kind note.
      Grampa is over 6 ft of wonderful husband :)

      No fur friends at the moment. Just the wild birds and bunnies. Occasional deer -
      Not next to my nose!

      Reply
  11. julie daigle

    endless layers on layers of far-flung grief, cold starlight pinpricks superimposed upon each other in velvet blackness, burning through the roof of the world

    Reply
  12. Pamela Niles

    Like many before you
    you bring spirit into my days;
    your presence imparts so much
    to my own well being…
    your alert soulful eyes
    meet mine with intelligence
    and when I hug you
    your dense plush fur soothes away
    any tension I may be holding.
    You would be, and usually are,
    my constant companion,
    reminding me each moment
    the importance of just being here.
    Each day your gifts of
    devotion and loyalty
    trust, joy, and carefree play
    –even your clamorous barks–
    strengthen our bond of love.
    But, like many before you,
    (I dread to think)
    the day will come
    when you break my heart.

    Reply
  13. laurie granieri

    Frigid winter Friday in the city: Boot heels striking the damp pavement, purposeful clicks, car engine coughing to life.

    Reply
  14. Kathy Nguyen

    outside my window
    two birds carve
    into the icy skies–
    after the phone call
    my heart sinks with his
    impending news

    Reply
  15. Dave Conley

    “It’s all relative” says the disabled swimmer as I complain about my poor leg kick. My foot in mouth moment!

    Reply
  16. Hajra

    Black velvet is…
    Lustrous and smooth..
    Soft and plush…
    A lovely fabric..
    While I have something clad in a velvet coat, that bounds about the house
    My adorable little Black Labrador :)

    Reply
  17. Malek Montag

    A torch like sun in a steel grey sky. Its light kisses the water on a breathless day. Sand rolls out like a carpet to meet the lapping waves. People stroll as their charges charge. In the shallows four horses wander in single file and follow the horse shoe curve. I stand by a seasonal victual monger that promises cold beer. But not today. Not in this seaside chill. In the distance a container ship slips by slowly far out. I turn and leave Camber sands too.

    Reply
  18. beverley

    The saw, in knuckle-tight grip, fingers chaffed and blistered in rough leather gloves, has rhythmically, achingly dismembered the blossom tree, each pull and push a painful, labouring moan while fragrant dust was falling. Now all that is left, ripped in ghastly surrender, lies like the head of a Jabberwock, fierce, silent and dead.

    Reply
  19. Sharon Black

    We traipse up the steps, choral scores
    under our arms, shrug off our sweaters
    in the nursing home’s heat. The bedroom
    doors are all a different colour
    as if to remind the residents they are not
    one homogenous grey
    despite what the world may think.
    The concert begins. May frowns and rocks
    and half-way through yells ‘Fucking useless!’
    a look of startled confusion for an instant
    opening up her face. Brenda squints
    with her one good eye, smiles open-mouthed,
    sobs loudly at the choruses and crescendos.
    Pete wheezes the tempo through his gums;
    Marge tuts quietly to herself in the front row
    pulling at her fingers in her lap. Anne is
    hunched over her knees, so low I think
    she must be sleeping, might tip from her chair –
    until as the final chord rings out she bobs up,
    clapping like a child, her eyes bright with tears.

    Reply
  20. Nerissa

    Dense breath in deep-silent church,
    Layers of prayer and cold stone
    Devotions speak loud
    On thick walls and stained glass
    Tiers stirred by new intercessions
    As words settle and find their place.

    © NDS

    Reply
  21. larry p

    Nearing home via the overly salted, ghost-white road,
    the sounds of many small birds assault our ears.
    An unfamiliar source,
    the back yard of the house
    to the West of the TV star.
    Donna’s garden, the sign says,
    carved out yellow lettering on brown.
    An unfamiliar sound for winter,
    when birds are meant to be South,
    or perhaps, merely because
    we generally walk at times we cannot hear.
    Finally, beginning to move again,
    the corner of our eye
    catches something largish,
    darting around the far side of the house
    to the East of the TV star.
    A red-tailed hawk
    appears from behind that house,
    alighting on a branch between the two houses,
    the large one, constantly being improved
    by the TV star, known for home construction,
    and the small one,
    for many years the uncomfortable nest
    of a crusty old sergeant
    and his German war bride.
    The little birds cease chirping
    and fly off in a panic.
    A moment later, the hawk dives,
    seeking a tasty morsel
    behind the TV star’s house.

    Reply
  22. De Jackson

    wishing for stones

    gather something,
    Love. this piece of befuddled
    fuzz from carpet, that bit of
    scattered ribbon loosed by
    time. hold this feathered
    fringe between your fingers,
    wonder why the day’s
    no longer mine.

    Reply
  23. Carol A. Stephen

    “Certain stars increase in intensity and extinguish themselves in the angels’ endless awareness. Others move toward transformation slowly and with great effort, and their self-realization occurs in fear and terror.” –from A Deeper Reality, Letter to Witold Hulewicz, Nov. 13, 1925, A Year with Rilke

    How did I grow so far
    away from my emotions, where
    I often cannot say how I feel,
    not even whisper it to myself?

    Each step away from fear like moving
    through recurring nightmare:
    running in place, freeze-frame motion,
    the unknown about to overtake me

    and I wake.
    But my thoughts continue
    running, this time not away,
    but toward—

    –CAS

    Reply
  24. Julie Gengo

    Day 24: January Mindful Writing Challenge
    Rare Barrel

    People walk along walls
    White tile glows amber light
    Rare words pass along lips
    Barrels stacked in the distance

    Reply
  25. Joan

    #smallstones 24

    When our thoughts wander,

    as they invariably do,

    just keep an eye on them

    to make sure they

    don’t wander too far.

    Reply
  

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