My small-stone contribution to Mindful Writing Day hosted by Fiona Robyn on her blog Writing Our Way Home:
My eyes pause on a quilt stitched from different greens,
rolling on hills in the distance,
stretching to another land with another language.
Then, I gently bring my gaze back to the screen,
plumb my mind for words,
and stitch them together on the keyboard.
The polar winds have brought us a taste of the Siberian tundra. The snow glistens and glitters on the rolling Saxon hills, looking like dunes in the desert. We move across one of the fields, the smallest two children being pulled on the sleigh and the oldest child learning to cross-country ski for the first time. Every now and then he lies in the snow with his legs and skis crossed. There is a happy din in the silent snow. We, the parents, trudge through the thick snow. The sun bathes us in its golden light and warms us, even threatens to burn us. The sky is blue and the landscape is picturesque all the way to the distant horizon in Bohemia. To play in a morsel of Siberia, together, to us a mirthful moment, but it is not enjoyed without considering the hardship of those who live and toil in the real Siberia.