Pebbles

Some of the most precious things in my care are pebbles.

Encountered with delight over many years, sparingly gathered, they have become good companions, in a similar way that books, LPs and paintings touch my life.

Most days at some point I will hold a pebble, touch it to my face, roll it in a hand, give it attention, and re-place it in relation to its companions with care.

Just so…

The sculptor Barbara Hepworth [1903-1975] suggests that the weight and form and texture felt in our hands relates us to the past and gives us a sense of a universal force.

The generous pebble points beyond itself.

The stones indeed cry out.

Barbara goes on to say that the beautifully shaped stone washed up by the sea is a symbol of continuity, a silent image of our desire for survival, peace, and security.

I can attest to their calming effect, and I trust, to their shaping potential.

A poem in the haiku tradition from the Unfurling collection:

Brutality all

around; softening begins

here, pebbles rolled smooth.

Whenever I share this short poem I always place my hand on my heart as I say the here.

What weight, form and texture do I carry into the world?