I love to search the shore,

Select smooth stones that shimmer

Under the liquid shine of the sea.

Turquoise, coral, amber and onyx.

Each one unique,

Shaped by the wind and waves,

Nestled next to seaweed

In swaths of texture and color

That rival a pointillist painting.

I select certain shapes that I know will fit together

In my stone mosaics:

Rectangles, spheres, triangles,

Rugged individualists that defy description,

Each stone has its own shape,

Its own story.


Later, when I have returned to my land-locked abode,

I sort the rocks on my kitchen counter,

Swirl them into patterns

That speak of connectedness,



And contrast.

Then I glue each pebble to the surface

Of a wooden board,

Setting off each stone

Against a titanium white background,

And the patterns emerge —

Figures dance,

And petals pirouette,

Creatures appear,

And gods come to life.

I spray the finished work with shellac,

Making the stones look wet again

Like they were on the strand,

Kissed by the sea.


I can spend hours on the shore,

Hunting and gathering

These talismans of peace.

I don’t know why they speak to me.

They whisper serenity.

When I stroke them, I feel calm.

There is something magical

About taking a part of the landscape

And using it to create my own —

A gift from the ocean

To become my voice,

My vision.


These pebbles remind me of the feel of the wind,

The taste of the salt,

The sound of the waves,

The sight of the setting sun,

Sinking, sinking,

Until its colors bloom

Above the waves,

Leaving a golden path

Through the sea

To me.