On this windy, snowy, Minnesota day I am tidying up my loft writing room. I am quiet and sorrowful about the horrors of yesterday, in Brussels and in Turkey over the weekend. I move objects on my shelves and discover things I have not looked at for a while.
I have a large collection of notebooks I use to write on a variety of topics. I opened the one called Small Stones. They are things I notice when I sit quietly and just observe.
At the Airport
Voices over intercoms, i-Pads on tables, people drinking at the circular bar. I sit across from a woman who has one hand over her heart, the other holds beads, her head lowered, her eyes closed. A red hair scarf, red top, jeans and red socks. The beads are white with flecks of blue. She counts. An oasis in the middle of chaos, in prayer.
At Carmel Beach
Pelicans soaring in a broken line, skim the water. Soar, dip, flap and dive. A three-month-old dressed in a leopard skin, long sleeved top with brown pants. A big pink rose on her sleeve and another on her head band. What all the babies are wearing this season. The water sparkles in the sun. The wind is chilly but the air is clear. Another day in paradise. Today the sky is gray. The snow is white. The trees are brown. I am quiet.