on march 22 i walked the dirt road and paused to build a cairn.
on this road made of rocks, i built one three high.
on this road worn down by years of cars and tractors and semis, i chose uneven and round and seemingly unstackable rocks.
on this road surrounded by proof of the universal dance of perfection between rain and sun and earth, i chose ragged and broken chunks of rock.
on this road of nearly infinite options, i chose those rocks with with the desire of building a solid, even, beautiful, tall cairn.

i saw what i saw. i took what i saw. a disappointing three high cairn. good enough. worthy of a photo. and a witness to wanting different.


this morning i paused to build a cairn.
on my porch, table set with plant and candle and rock and matches and coffee and phone and coin collection, i played.
i chose rocks that i’d chosen before. i chose rocks that i collected weeks ago because of their evenness, smoothness, flatness, smallness, perfectness. i chose rocks knowing i was taking them for myself and that’s just what that is.

i carried those rocks around in the cup holders of my van for a few days. i loaded them in the bowl of my skirt one day and hauled them to the porch. they’ve been scattered and lined up and sorted and taken and gazed at and judged as prettiest and most favorite.

on this porch i built a cairn twelve high.
i used what i had, pausing to look behind the plant and under the table for any that might be hidden.
i used all that i could, knowing some might wait and not be part of this.

rocks in river

i knew it would fall and falling isn’t inherently bad.
i knew i might have to rearrange the rocks and that is like an artist.
i knew anyone could change it and i could rebuild it.
there is everything on the road, everything on the table.

3 thoughts on “rocks

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