August 18th, 2005


(Ginger's) STONE SOUP

The story seems to be about the stone.

I want to tell a story about the folks who make the soup...
But one must begin, where the story begins.

Is the stone, part of the ground that a tree's roots has broken apart?
The tree that is eventually fuel beneath the cauldron?

Is it a boulder in a river, worn and worn and worn down?
Tumbled into a smooth small thing invested with vast history?
Plopped into the pot?

Where does the stone come from?

The stone, older than time--but the stone must have history.

Smoothly scarred.

Growing as it has grown smaller.

Each rain taking a bit, to another place.

It cannot be ours until it has grown small enough to fit into our
small, thumbed, hands.

What it is, a concentration of everything that is so much larger
than our Great Ape mouthes can contain.

Than the Chimpanzee, can handle.

The stone at the bottom of the cauldron that gathers bubbles for the boil.

Too large for the bird to swallow
and grind his own sustenance with
in flight.......feathered and brilliant.

A stone the right size.

Just the right size.

Where does a stone like that come from?

Our stone.
The one we need.

This story, is hard to tell.

*tosses her worry-stone in the air, grabs for it, and misses*

It's the one we trip over, and put in our pocket.

The one under our feet, and in our walls.

It's old and small and perfect.
The bubbles are gathering on it..........
Throw something in.

Go've got it in you.
Toss it in.

We'll all be better for it.
  • Current Music
    everything beautiful is far away, Grandaddy



I do have to be on camera this weekend......


Not bad for a crappy pair of clippers and a hand mirror....

I like it.
I'll snip for days, but I like it.
  • Current Music
    Common People, Pulp