I find as I put these observations that become small stones into words, that other layers of meaning are exposed, layers of which I was not consciously aware until I translated the images/sensations/feelings into words. Day after day this has happened. It is astonishing! Does my mind know more than I do? Does writing release understanding? Or is it that scrutiny helps me understand myself and perhaps understand more of the world? In a way, it doesn't matter how it happens, only that it does happen. I do know that I will continue to write and see what emerges.
In the stone below, the blemishes accumulated by a leaf turn it from detritus to treasure when viewed in revealing light.
Dead leaf, caught and pressed against the screen,
transformed by a fleeting ray of sunshine
into a golden, gem-studded heart.