Like the summer-shaved head of a small boy, moss calls me to scrub my hand over its surprising stubble softness, to soothe my seriousness with its velvety tickle. Today, I restrain myself. The moss blooms! Its stringy, goofy flowers nod their burgundy heads to one another, wave, giggle and delight …
Eye Rock (Fantasy) I can see her grinding, rhythmic, stone on stone. Making medicine from herbs. Making food. Making memories: first, for those she served, memories of good meals, surrounded by good friends, celebrating a good harvest; second, for those she never met, memories of a time when baking bread …
Seed of Doubt (Estimation) A rock. A maple seed. A tiny leaf. Not all that much, is it? Okay, so I’ll tell you a story, instead. We bought a house, (a true story, by the way), a modest, graceful Victorian that hasn’t changed much since it was built in 1871. And …