Yesterday we swam at Trail Bay after our errands in Sechelt. When I stepped out of the water, these were the first stones I saw. On a beach of stones, millions of them, all beautiful, these were the first two. They’re keepers. I live in a house filled with stones. Fossils, slate, concretions from the beach below John’s mother’s house in Nanaimo, wishing stones (and now, another…), an agate from Haida Gwaii, brought to me as a gift, a geode from the Fraser Canyon, chunks of sandstone filled with clam stew, as the fossils in the Sooke Formation are sometimes called, and other beauties. My grandsons often hover by me as I sit at my desk, wondering about the stones on my desk. Mostly I can remember where they came from but not always. When we swam with the children at Trail Bay in the summer, I told them about wishing stones and they hunted for their own. What will I wish for, one of them asked, kind of worried about the concept. Only good things, I replied. I stood with my own wishing stone yesterday and thought hard about the climate emergency, the situation in Ukraine, a few more personal difficulties.
Lay down these wordsBefore your mind like rocks.placed solid, by handsIn choice of place, setBefore the body of the mindin space and time
…each rock a worda creek-washed stoneGranite: ingrainedwith torment of fire and weightCrystal and sediment linked hotall change, in thoughts,As well as things.
Cobble of milky way,straying planets