Earlier this year I took part in the river of stones challenge and, to my delight, one of my stones was published in an anthology edited by Fiona Robyn and Kaspalita. You can buy the book here.
Writing small stones is a fantastically useful exercise for any writer. Basically you commit to really noticing one thing each day and to writing a brief description of it, and how you related to it. Your stone can be a short sentence, a poem, a haiku or anything else that takes your fancy!
I enjoyed the process so much that I will be taking part again in July 2011 and you can read those stones below. If you’d like to join in, just visit the river of stones blog.
Friday 1 July 2011
I brush paint over paper and watch the colours mixing, making something new. Swirling my finger in the pigments I form circles and feel the rugged texture of the surface beneath.
Saturday 2 July 2011
Jet engines hum distantly, far above the court. A crowd stirs, settles. Yellow ball bounces. Concentration in the glaring sunshine and then, a serve.
Sunday 3 July 2011
Water rains down from the can, drenching parched leaves and feeding bristling buds. I watch as it soaks through the pots, seeps from beneath and runs, in rivulets, towards the drain.
Monday 4 July 2011
The air is heavy, scented, still. Sunlight streams hazily. A languid day, but the serrated buzzing of a strimmer shows someone, somewhere is at work.
Tuesday 5 July 2011
A ‘conceptual’ garden – hidden beneath a plain, green lawn and viewed through periscopes. Visitors huddle round, crouch and bend, bottoms pointing skyward like a row of round sunflowers.
Wednesday 6 July 2011
Clouds hang, dark and heavy. A sense of foreboding as the earth waits to be soaked, refreshed, renewed.
Thursday 7 July 2011
Tackling the email mountain, the delete key is my friend. With each click I feel lighter. My inbox is a cleaner space and my mind has room to roam.
Friday 8 July 2011
White muslin flutters in a breeze. Swirls, curls back on itself and flicks the sky. I watch, and breathe out.
My stones for Saturday 9 July 2011 to Friday 15 July took the form of an art journal.
Saturday 16 July 2011
Blue lights wind around the trunk of a tree, cast a gentle glow into the dark night and reveal the ghostly outlines of bark, branches and leaves.
Sunday 17 July 2011
Kitchen cupboards, newly scrubbed, open their arms to take jars and packet and tins – a multi-coloured bounty for which I am thankful.
Monday 18 July 2011
A gaggle of children pass by my window, voices and giggles rising up from the street below. I pause and remember the excitement of a class trip, of places seen for the first time and of lunches shared under a broad-leafed tree.
Tuesday 19 July 2011
I sink into a hot bath, water lapping at my chin and muscles stretching after a long, hard day. I do nothing, just stare at the ceiling and smile.
Wednesday 20 July 2011
The comforting whirr of the washing machine speaks to me of home. I watch as linens are rinsed and spun and I pull them out warm, cradling them close and inhaling the clean, fresh scent.
Thursday 21 July 2011
Hands wrap around the smooth china mug, feeling the warmth inside. I inhale the earthy scent of steeped leaves at the end of their voyage and sip the life-affirming brew.
Friday 22 July 2011
Lying back I close my eyes and open my ears. After a while the silence is layered – distant voices, the hum of traffic, a clock ticking, space to think.
Saturday 23 July 2011
We stand outside, clinking plastic cups under a night sky filled with stars, and dance on the lush green grass.
Sunday 24 July 2011
The sun passes out from behind a cloud and I spread bare arms to greet it, relaxing as seagulls caw overhead.
Monday 25 July 2011
Hot, zingy tea poured from a small blue and white pot. A quiet ritual that has marked the passing of days for hundreds of years.
Tuesday 26 July 2011
Piles of paper seem to breed whenever I turn away. They speak of jobs half done, of forms to be filled, of things I must remember. I sigh, then shuffle through.
Wednesday 27 July 2011
The ovation starts in the stalls and swells through the theatre to the balcony above. We whoop and stamp and clap, projecting the joy and the laughter that we have shared tonight.
Thursday 28 July 2011
I sink into the table as the knots in my back are gently kneaded out. My shoulders slump, my fingers uncurl and my breathing steadies.
Friday 29 July 2011
We walk through the rooms of a palace, our hushed steps creaking on the well-worn floor beneath and our faces cast up to glory in the delicate gilded ceilings high above.
Saturday 30 July 2011
I tap on the keys of my netbook, forming thoughts into words at the touch of a button. Yet I must remember to look up and drink in the day.
Sunday 31 July 2011
A country churchyard. Filled with quiet mounds of stone and moss. Ancient carvings, smoothed by time but still standing for a life.