Three Small Stones

As I have not included a photo today, please allow your imaginations create appropriate illustrations for this post.



Dripping green catkins on the hornbeam tree.  Damp, heavy soil smell.  I peer into the curious light of the young catkins.  Sneakers slosh each ardent step down the hill.  I lift my chin: the hornbeam treetop, with its spontaneous rustling, bridges the gap between sky and ground.

Inspired by:



Once again the man leads two white dogs away from towering-high snow piles, waning moon above.


This is the most respected movement:
lolloping along an icy telephone wire
the baby squirrel in perfect step
with the Bach concerto


a river of stones


  1. I love your observations! They are simply marvelous.I got distracted watching a squirrel today… he was carrying something in his mouth. Still not sure what it was… (Sorry, that was sort of random… the last poem made me think of it!)


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