Still following?

If anyone is still following, thank you, but you may have given up as my stones slow to a trickle. Fiona's and Kaspa's new writing site is where I post now, but if you aren't a member and don't plan to be I will be posting my stones on one of my wordpress blogs: http://mroby.wordpress.com/

Forty-fifth Stone

A haze of pollen
gilds the maple's branches
shimmers in the sunlight.

Forty fourth Stone

Like a planetary system
at street level, shine
halogen lamps in
the early morning dark.

or

From the sidewalks
halogen planets
shine through early
morning darkness.

Forty-third Stone

The sun glows,
burns like a torch

through the density
of morning fog.

Forty-second Stone

The city skyline dark
still against the lightening
sky but for one tower
 its facade blazing
with the reflected light
of the unrisen sun.

Forty-first Stone

Three o'clock
in the morning
sleepless, I sit
at the computer
wrapped against
the chill in my
grandmother's
blue and white
chrysanthemum
kimono and
try to write
my way home
to sleep.

Fortieth Stone

Weather forecast:
one inch of snow.
The maple outside
my window, does not
watch the Weather Channel
and has put out hundreds
of rust coloured buds,
branches reaching
for today's sunlight.

Thirty-ninth Stone

Trees freeze until
the sap bursts
with the crackle
snap of fireworks.

Thirty-eighth Stone

Temperatures drop:

out comes the grey

woolly scarf and

on goes the kettle.

Thirty-seventh Stone

As dawn lightens
through the bare
branches of the maple
canopy, a band of
pale yellow shades into
a pewter sky streaked
with smoky cirrus and
like some beacon
in the sky, Venus
low in the southwest.

Thirty-sixth Stone

A cold, dry night--
as I turn down
the fleece blanket
my fingertips draw
lightning trails.

Thirty-fifth Stone

As temperatures rise
snow crouches
in the nooks and crannies
of tree bark.

Thirty-fourth Stone

Even on a rainy cloud
covered morning
there is a moment
when the world shifts
from dark to light.

A blink.

I stare through
the slats at the darkness
glance down at my fan
cactus, look up and
see the sticks and twigs
of the sugar maple
canopy outlined
against a lighter dark.

Even on a rainy cloud
covered morning
the shift from dark to
light lightens my spirit.

Thirty-first Stone

Walking along the river banks
picking up small stones, I
drop some back with a clatter,
others, I skip over the water,
but some, I dip into the water
and watch their true colours emerge.
Those I place in my pocket.
I come across other stone pickers
and we share the stones
we have found and we find
friendships--swimming
the river together.

Last stone...I'll be over at Writing Our Way Home. If you haven't joined Fiona's and Kaspa's latest venture, come look. It's quite something.
Home: http://writingourwayhome.ning.com/
My page: http://writingourwayhome.ning.com/profile/MargoRoby
I'm also to be found at: http://margoroby@wordpress.cpm

Thirtieth Stone

Cars hiss past
down Peachtree
kicking up drops
from the wet
tarmac.

Twenty-ninth Stone

The leafless beech
bears hundreds of
seeds armed
against the cold
with prickly coats.

Twenty-eighth Stone

I feel comfort in
the crackle of a fire
mesmerized by the dance
of flames drawn by
the chimney's draft.

Twenty-seventh Stone

A grey and white canvas:
the fog lines the middle third
still and heavy, as if gravity
pulls it earthward seeping
into corners, draped on
hillsides and houses. Clouds
fill the upper third, pregnant
with snow, as still as the fog
but skybound. Against them,
moving from earth to sky,
chimney smoke curls and
coils upwards rising unbound.

Twenty-sixth Stone

drip
 drip
  drip
    drip
     drip
     r
     i
     p


           

Twenty-fifth Stone

Across the street
three lanterns light
the side entry to
the church's nave,
warm in the grey
twilight of a rainy
morning.