A photo of lavender because the sun is shining this morning, and I'm watching the bulbs appear in the garden and dreaming of bees and sun-cream and lying on the grass with a book.
Since our reminder for submissions we've had 50 more entries, bringing the total up to more than 200.
I'd always thought it would be marvellous to have 300, so we're hoping some of you are still hanging onto your small stones before you skip them one by one into the middle of the river. One or ten, send them to email@example.com. And make sure your friends have done the same - even if they write their very first stone this afternoon.
A short post, which is always a good excuse for a poem. Here's one of my old favourites. Have lovely Fridays x
It Was Like This: You Were Happy
It was like this:
you were happy, then you were sad,
then happy again, then not.
It went on.
You were innocent or you were guilty.
Actions were taken, or not.
At other times you were silent.
Mostly, it seems you were silent – what could you say?
Now it is almost over.
Like a lover, your life bends down and kisses your life.
It does this not in forgiveness –
between you, there is nothing to forgive –
but with the simple nod of a baker at the moment
he sees the bread is finished with transformation.
Eating, too, is a thing now only for others.
It doesn’t matter what they will make of you
or your days: they will be wrong,
they will miss the wrong woman, miss the wrong man,
all the stories they tell will be tales of their own invention.
Your story was this: you were happy, then you were sad,
you slept, you awakened.
Sometimes you ate roasted chestnuts, sometimes persimmons.