Picking Up Stones

I find myself picking up stones

And when I get home

I empty them out of my pockets

I put them into patterns of swirls and twirls and circles

I find myself picking up stones

Gravitating to a different colour each time I collect

Pink on Tuesday at sunset

Red this morning after staying up late looking through the telescope

I saw the moons, the pink rings across the planet, I can’t remember the name but I’ll ask my husband

I find myself picking up stones

The heavier my pockets get the more grounded I feel to this earth, to the land

I find myself picking up stones

Took off my shoes and socks today

Walked right into the shallow waters still frigid from the winter

Just to get closer to the colours I gravitated towards

I want to know what each of them are. What they mean. Always making meaning. A meaning maker am I.

I find myself picking up stones

Maybe they’re picking me

Maybe we are somehow all the same

A range of colour and light and darkness

Heaviness and lightness

Large and small

I find myself picking up stones