AROS
During the month of January 2011 I took part in a writing project called AROS, which I came across on Twitter. It was fun and was good writing discipline.
Perhaps you’d like to try it too – it’s not too late.
When I first saw the word attached to a # (hashtag), I thought it referred to the Scots Gaelic word ‘aros’ which means ‘house’ and I was intrigued enough to investigate on that basis alone.
However, it turned out that AROS stands for A River Of Stones. It was an international project started by Fiona Robyn & her fiancé, Kaspa to encourage people to engage with the world through writing a short observational piece every day during January.
The challenge was to pay attention to one thing every day during the month of January and write it down. These pieces of writing were small stones. Fiona and Kaspa said that ‘a small stone is a polished moment of paying proper attention.’
The project was aimed at both ‘writers’ and ‘non-writers’ taking part – it wasn’t about the finished product, it was about the process.
I was sometimes surprised by the thoughts that surfaced during these little meditations. I also decided to stick to the Twitter maximum of 140 characters – not something that was required – but it was good for me as brevity doesn’t come easy.
You can read more about the project and see lots of samples of stones at http://ariverofstones.blogspot.com
You could try it for yourself –any month. And it doesn’t have to be for publication, you could just record your stones in nice new notebook.
Below are my 31 stones:
Jan 1st
Open the door, let out the old, admit the new, embrace change and possibility.
Jan 2nd
Intensely, incense, wood-burning smoke, lavender polish and coffee. Wraparound aromas focus and enclose the writer at her desk.
Jan 3rd
Greylags chip at the frost under a cold, weak sun, find seed potatoes – and hope.
Jan 4th
Robin on the fence, feathers ruffled by the wind, braced himself and hung on, still happy to be here.
Jan 5th
Snow on ice – going is tough. Brakes grate, tyres crunch, progress slow. But I will get there.
Jan 6th
Twelfth Night – no epiphany, just quiet, soft light, contemplation of where to go now. Any way but back.
Jan 7th
Walls of grey sleet advance up the loch. Land and sea blur in the mist. Bedraggled horses nibble the sodden, lifeless grass – January.
Jan 8th
Slow build up. Overnight avalanche. My world became monochrome chilled. Disturbing beauty – only skeletal definition – waymarkers gone.
Jan 9th
Ingredients thoughtfully assembled, mixed in meditation, baked golden sweet. Eaten in reverence and remembrance of what she taught me.
Jan 10th
Metal studded straps and soft black rubber – feels good. People stare admiringly. “Love your rock-chick wellies,” they say.
Jan 11th
Perhaps at last I can see, embrace, enjoy, rejoice, forgive. Perhaps at last it’s all right to be me.
Jan 12th
Photograph – long gone golden-haired children. I stop, mine the memories, smile – grateful, happy and a little bit sad.
Jan 13th
Mouse and me – eye-to-eye. Panic cowers in the dark corner. I scoop him up and set him free. Calm for now.
Jan 14th
Friend sends a timely message. Son texts – he loves his mum. Husband calls for lunch time chat. I see that I am not alone.
Jan 15th
Gale-driven onslaught of rain. Tidal rush surges and hurls huge, cliff-blasting waves. I batten down, This too will pass.
Jan 16th
Pressure-washed by gale-driven rain, earth softens. Starlings and rock doves jab the grass. Snowdrop bulbs peep through.
Jan 17th
You came into life feet first, skipped to school, strolled to college, strode to work. And still in step with life. Happy Birthday, son.
Jan 18th
Lunch – egg laid and collected today, bright yellow grain-fed yolk and thick silky white, mashed with creamy mayo on wholemeal, home-baked bread. Eaten-mindfully. Good times.
Jan 19th
Full moon pours white light onto the surface of the loch. It shines through a chiffon cloud and Orion stands guard in a navy blue sky.
Jan 20th
Affirmation and kindness have been the order of today. A conversation, a meditation, a meeting and an email made all the difference.
Jan 21st
A rare, deep sleep, a necessary dream, gave comfort and revelation.
Jan 22nd
Saturday morning, a second cup of tea, a long phone blether with my darling daughter, then a pause of quiet contemplation. Time to breathe.
Jan 23rd
On my desk – a soapstone penguin, a heart of smooth polished wood, blue glass paperweight and a notebook – meaningful, thoughtful gifts.
Jan 24th
Outside grey, damp and cold. Sea in wind-whipped turmoil. But inside – inside me, I sense a return of equilibrium and a measure of peace.
Jan 25th
For Auld Lang Syne – school-choir solo part in ‘My Heart’s in the Highlands’ - reciting ‘To a Mouse’ – ‘Ae Fond Kiss’ over haggis, neeps and tatties – and a lifetime of teaching your poetry and songs. Cheers, Rabbie.
Jan 26th
Sun tries hard to break through, grey lurks on the ridge and at the horizon. But, at last, there’s more light than dark.
Jan 27th
Shona, fiery, red-haired beauty, formidable matriarch. You command respect my magnificent highland heifer.
Jan 28th
A clear day. Early sun, orange orb over Ben Tianavaig with pale, crescent moon in the west. Universe goes on regardless.
Jan 29th
Five little girls watch me at my desk. Sunday best and monochrome smiles. In those faces, I imagine I can see spectral foretraces of what was to come – for me and my sisters.
Jan 30th
Sunday bliss – Golden, oven warm cookies – apricots, sultanas and oats, dipped in Taylor’s Rich Italian Blend coffee.
Jan 31st
January – a journey of moments that has not been about the destination.
