I carry them home,

tiny stones softened

by water’s carved edge.

Sea shells ridged and scalloped,

as if no artist ever captured

such lines.

Is it because

they are more beautiful

than treasures found at home?

Same colors in my garden

with ridges for tiny ants

to navigate.

I display my found jewels

from the beach

and forest walks.

They lay across my mantel,

angled by the candlelight

just so.

My garden stones stay

in the soil outside my door.

I am not compelled

to fill my pockets

with their soft colors

or coiled shapes.

I know they are the same,

both lovely in their due,

unique i...

Please subscribe to keep reading.