The River of Stones 2012 | Open Space Practice, (AKA: A Thousand Shades of Gray)

Small Stone: Two Boys

In the living room, where there are two couches, two dog beds, a chair, and no humans, you two boys cuddle together at one end of one couch. When I first find you there, you (Sam) have tucked yourself as tightly as you can fit against Dexter, your head resting on his back. Your chins are both so white, Dexter’s because of age and yours because it’s a typical marking of your breed mix.

Dexter was pretty happy as an only dog for those four months before you came, at least for the part after he’d recovered from Obi’s loss, but I know he’s happier with you around–even when you steal his toys or crowd him when it’s treat time or push him out of the way to get attention from the humans. The two of you give each other something we can’t, understand each other in a way I’ll never be able to, even though I am also pretty good at cuddling in a pile on the couch.

Small Stone: My Face

Looking in the mirror, I really see my face. I notice my mouth, how the top lip rises into two perfect points, a shape that seems almost wasted on someone whose only “makeup” is Strawberry Chapstick.

I’m usually don’t notice the shape of my mouth, had forgotten it, because I’m distracted by my soft neck, an unfortunate family trait, or surprised by the deepening lines around my mouth, my eyes and my forehead, or the dark circles under my eyes, or my unruly brows.

I forget my dimple and the color of my eyes–each one uniquely shaded, an unmatched pair, hazel but the mix of blue, brown, and gold shifts, like the changing colors on the surface of the river.