Black blood bottled in a cheap plastic cocoon
Fed slowly to the page – course undetermined –
By this hand that is lost for words.
Pretty primroses scatter the border; they’ve sat all through the winter (so far).
Still stretching their bright button faces to the sky.
“We’re here!” They cry in rainbow colour. “We survived!”
The scent of rain fills me, soothes my soul with its cool acceptance.
Watching the drops bleed slowly down the bare winter trees I realise:
Pain is universal, we are not the only species to feel its touch.
No small stone today.
The pages are cool and smooth beneath my fingers,
Carrying the weight of a whole world,
Balanced perfectly on each.
The black marks of reality give way to the white space between,
Where I pause for breath and hear it echoed by those who live within.
Smoke caught in shadowed candlelight.
Flickers like fairy wings, dancing round the flame.
This is scent, seen;
A glimpse of elemental magic in action.
They could be tiny flames,
Frozen in a moment of curled, orange beauty.
Huddling together like bats on the branch,
Seeking the warmth that Winter has sucked out of them
(these brittle, beech leaves).
Plenty more small stone offerings can be found at the official blog for the January 2014 Mindful Writing Challenge here.