Stone 22, last day

When I was little, nothing needed to be real.
I piled up handfuls of small stones or shells
or laid out sticks, just touching end to end,
and look! I made a town, a road, a fort.
They had to be the things I said they were.
I know that’s silly, now. You can’t make stones
be what they aren’t – they’re stubborn. So are sticks.
These days, I make-believe with piles of words instead.

I have thoroughly enjoyed the discipline of piling up my verbal stones over the last three weeks – I didn’t stumble across the Small Stones site until a third of January was gone. And I’ve enjoyed seeing the images other posters offered to the world.

Some days, it’s been a challenge to come up with a topic; many days, it’s been a struggle to stay simple and concrete. Every day, it’s been rewarding. Thank you! I’ll miss our river.

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