A river of stones

Thank you firstly to the Weaver of Grass who alerted me to this wonderful idea a few days ago. I am a Late Arrival due to my brain being somewhat addled these past few days.

Here is the link to the blog page which explains the concept. I definitely need some inspiration to get me writing again, and this sounds perfect. Just writing a few words about something which I have noticed and really looked at that day. I always have a little notebook with me where I jot down things I have noticed, so I am hoping this won't be too difficult for me.

Here is my back-log, but from now on I shall add something daily:

Crabbit fingers of black clasp the coral dawn to their breast.

Captured in pond-ice, dead fish stand to attention; the thaw pockmarks their grave.

Winter hedgerows the colour of sparrows, upright above grass bleached and flattened by the snow.

The fallen apple tree bereft of leaves, branches arching and deckled with grey-green moss and now a climbing-frame for cats . . .

By the mill, the river caresses and sculpts a perch for a hungry Dipper, glissading over stones we skimmed on summer's day.

Ivy tendrils swarm across the oak trunk, shuddering with the creeping of wrens.