everything feeds process

Tonight, Together We

Float in the lukewarm bath water. My body barely fits beneath the water line anymore. I read my book, mouth the words, as if I could taste them. You kick and twitch in time. I read aloud to you, my voice just above a whisper.

***

This is what I noticed this evening, after a day of too many meetings and obligations. It was my first moment of quiet, since I woke up.

***

This micropoem is part of A River of Stones International Small Stone Writing Month, hosted by Fiona and Kaspa. The goal of the project is for participants to create one small stone (a recorded moment of mindful observation) each day in July.

Some Evenings

Unaccustomed to living with all this silence, I fill myself
with the clattering of silverware in the drawer, the hum
of the air conditioner, the constant chatter of the TV.
There is only so much quiet I can bear.

***

On Tuesday and Thursday evenings, Aaron teaches until 10:30. I have gotten used to not having him around on these nights, but I prefer to have him around. There is something that’s just a little more empty about our house without him in it. Corny, I know. But that’s how it feels tonight.

***

This micropoem is part of A River of Stones International Small Stone Writing Month, hosted by Fiona and Kaspa. The goal of the project is for participants to create one small stone (a recorded moment of mindful observation) each day in July.

Feels Like 108 Degrees

Holy sweat dripping off every surface.
Holy air conditioning. Holy swollen feet.
Holy water bottle. Holy crowded light rail trains,
holy buses. Holy skyways connecting
every building downtown. Holy sun, holy heat.
Holy walking shadow to shadow, blessing the dark.
Holy home. Holy respite.
Holy forgetting all of these things,
just to remember tomorrow.

***

Like much of the center of the U.S., Minnesota is experiencing a heat wave. Today, it was 95 degrees, with a heat index of 108.

I was lucky enough to stay inside for most of the day, until I had to take the train from work to my periodontist for a check up. I found myself walking, sweating, and cursing everything I was experiencing. F*(& this heat, this humidity, this sweat. Then, somehow, the ghost of Allen Ginsberg visited me (not really) and replaced every curse word with the word “holy”. Holy shade, holy darkness, holy air conditioning. Suddenly, I was experiencing gratitude for my experience, rather than abject misery. As soon as I got home, I had to write it down.

So now I have a very large small stone, or a short litany poem. Either way, I am home now and grateful for my air conditioning, shower, and stash of root beer popsicles.

***

This micropoem is part of A River of Stones International Small Stone Writing Month, hosted by Fiona and Kaspa. The goal of the project is for participants to create one small stone (a recorded moment of mindful observation) each day in July.

Sunday Morning, 7:30, Clermont, IA

Just beyond the backyard tree line, mist rises from the gray green ocean of soybean fields.

***

Before we left Clermont this morning, I ate breakfast and took in the view from Aaron’s aunt’s kitchen window. Beyond their enormous backyard, I could see what looked to me like a huge lake. (I wasn’t wearing my glasses, to be honest.) As  my eyes focused, I realized that it was a huge field of soybeans with humidity rising from it like steam. I love it when my eyes play tricks on my like this.

***

This micropoem is part of A River of Stones International Small Stone Writing Month, hosted by Fiona and Kaspa. The goal of the project is for participants to create one small stone (a recorded moment of mindful observation) each day in July.

Saturday Evening, 9:00, Clermont, IA

We walk past the corner store, down the block, to the gravel path that follows the Turkey River. You hold my hand as dozens of lightning bugs flicker and spark, hovering above the neighbors’ wide green lawns.

***

It was bloody hot for the entire weekend, which was a shame. I really enjoy walking around in Clermont, because it is a truly beautiful little city. We stayed with one of Aaron’s aunts and she lives a block away from the downtown area. Since it was so hot, we could only take walks in the early morning and later evening. During our morning walk, I had the best glazed donut of my life, from the Amish bakery. In the evening, we took a very quick walk around the block and counted fireflies. Despite the humidity, it was beautiful.

***

This micropoem is part of A River of Stones International Small Stone Writing Month, hosted by Fiona and Kaspa. The goal of the project is for participants to create one small stone (a recorded moment of mindful observation) each day in July.

EDIT: Removed reference to a photo that refused to load. Sorry!

27 Miles to the Iowa Border

On the right side of the road
is a gray corrugated barn , spray painted
“God’s Country”. On the left, a herd
of cattle grazing on alfalfa. Two lanes
of asphalt made slick with rain in the middle.

***

On Friday, Aaron and I drove down to Clermont, Iowa to visit his extended family and participate in a baby shower that they threw us. We drove down in a terrible rainstorm and it was very hard to see the normally picturesque landscape. But, in a break in the storm, we came across this scene. Alas, it was momentary, as the rain continued to follow us for the remainder of the drive.

***

This micropoem is part of A River of Stones International Small Stone Writing Month, hosted by Fiona and Kaspa. The goal of the project is for participants to create one small stone (a recorded moment of mindful observation) each day in July.

Words From My Bus Commute

I ♥ Jesus, hung around a man’s neck,
on a dirty lanyard. Just kids, a college
student’s paperback book title.
Stop requested, flashing
over and over, above my head and
a woman’s plastic grocery bag saying
Thank You, Thank You, Thank You.

***

When I do it right, participating in A River of Stones is a pretty powerful practice. I feel connected, grounded, and in touch with my writing muse. Considering how little I’ve been writing, this is truly a blessing for me.

So, what is doing it right? I know I do it right when I craft the small stone in the middle of my day, rather than the end of the day. I do it right when I am noticing in the moment, rather than remembering or recreating a moment. I do it right when I leave myself open to what’s around me, rather than filtering or editing my inputs.

I have to find a way to remember this, for the remaining two weeks of the challenge.

Aaron and I are heading down to Iowa tomorrow for a combo baby/wedding shower with his extended family. They live in a really small community in Iowa, so I am hoping that this weekend allows me multiple opportunities to do it right with my practice. Just as with my trip to Nebraska, I will be posting my small stones when I return.

***

This micropoem is part of A River of Stones International Small Stone Writing Month, hosted by Fiona and Kaspa. The goal of the project is for participants to create one small stone (a recorded moment of mindful observation) each day in July.

My body is now a web of light blue veins, a fine mesh woven around my watery body.

***

I am trying extraordinarily hard to make my small stones about anything other than my pregnancy. I don’t want to turn all of my writing into “BellyWatch 2011″. But, there are just times when my body does things that surprise me. Part of me wants to document these changes, mark that they are happening to me. And the other part of me realizes that what I am going through is common and not special. My inner Minnesotan is battling with my sense of wonder, I guess.

So for those of you keeping count, I have written 13 small stones so far, only 2 of which have been about my pregnancy. My inner Minnesotan is winning and she is silently proud of that fact.

***

This micropoem is part of A River of Stones International Small Stone Writing Month, hosted by Fiona and Kaspa. The goal of the project is for participants to create one small stone (a recorded moment of mindful observation) each day in July.

Onion Blossom

A miracle that is made only
by waiting for weeks on end
for the thin green stalk
to erupt into hundreds
of closed white blooms.

***

Tonight, after dinner, Aaron and I walked to our neighborhood community garden. We haven’t been by in a few weeks. Now that it’s July, everyone’s plots have exploded with plant life. I found several onion plants with four to five foot stalks, topped with these gorgeous flowers. I don’t think I’ve ever actually seen an onion blossom before. I am now a little obsessed with them.

***

This micropoem is part of A River of Stones International Small Stone Writing Month, hosted by Fiona and Kaspa. The goal of the project is for participants to create one small stone (a recorded moment of mindful observation) each day in July.