The river swells in its bed.
Gray-brown petal-shaped swirls
blossom like lips on the surface
as the river churns its massive bulk
downstream. Leafless trees branch
from the cliffs like bones in the pale
afternoon. The sun is too feeble
to break through the sheen of clouds.
A mother with pale hair leads
her teenage daughter by the hand
toward the marsh. The girl’s eyes
are glazed. She follows her mother
quietly, almost reverently, toward the woods.
Five-minute mindfulness writing, small stone day 1, for Writing Your Way Home.