Small Stones July 5-8

July 5

Soft summer rain begins to clear the air and the heavy showers forecast offer hope that my hayfever season is coming to its end. Outside my abandoned garden craves my attention; blackberries to be picked, roses to be pruned, weeds to be removed and summer to be enjoyed.

July 6

I hold the white soft stress ball in my hand and squeeze slowly in and out. I feel the ball exhale and inhale. I throw it against the wall as hard as possible. It does not bounce back but drops limply to the floor. I pick it up again and place it on the table, returning to my work, grateful for the distraction.

July 7

Stories of journalists listening into phone calls of the relatives of soldiers and of missing children brings on overwhelming sadness and anger. I try to imagine the anguish in those calls and wonder how knowing their contents would benefit anyone. I listen to a spokesman from the paper try to convince the public that senior managers were completely unaware of what was going on. I cannot bear any more and turn off the radio. Another example of man’s inhumanity to man.

July 8

I feel sadness as the Shuttle launches for the final time, another reminder of the passage of time and the constancy of change. An era has ended and its triumphs and tragedies pass into history.

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About Peter Domican
Marketer and change professional. Writer and photographer.

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