Tag: a river of stones
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Small stone: The tipping point of raindrops
On the window they hang, these globules of water, those transparent ovals, their own surface tension holding them together. As I child I use to trace them with my finger, a kind of pluvial join the dots. But the fascination both then and now is with the tipping point of a raindrop, the moment it…
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The press of remembrance
I feel memories like an indentation, a pressing into or inside the flesh, a coagulation of associations, the smell of a strawberry candle, the sound of pigeon’s cooing, the journey into brown eyes, and always waves, or water of some kind, the splash of it, the smell of old upholstery in a recreation hall, the…
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Small stones: Smattering of snow
Out of the window, the sun just up over the hill now golden brown like the song, a smattering of snow has settled on the garden arch, the rose stems, on the top of the wall. It resembles Icelandic ash and laughingly triggers memories of the recent unprecedented snow that locked us inside otherworldly snow…
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Smacky mouthed kisses
I meant to write an Ode to Two Year Olds but he passed by that landmark delicious age but there is still so much to delight in. I hold his chubby hands, almost wrist-less, short arms that he puts around my neck and then he comes at me with one of those open mouth fishy…
Alison Wells Author 