“The universe is not made of atoms; it’s made of [tiny] stories.”
– Muriel Rukeyser & Wirrow
My tiny story was inspired by The Tiny Book of Tiny Stories. You can see selections of tiny stories from Volume 3 on the Brain Pickings blog.
Draped in loyalty and commitment,
Community envelops all in her embrace.
Gently, she nudges us towards our aspirations.
At times, we stumble, but accept her outstretched hand,
in support and encouragement.
Together, we work to realize our dreams –
renewing our faith in humanity.
A Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte – 1884, Georges Seurat
Today, we celebrated the minutiae of life. Observing the tiny details that surround us, we uncovered the tiny stories within our day.
THE TINY BOOK of tiny stories, compiled by hitRecord’s Joseph Gordon-Levitt and underground artist, Wirrow, defines a tiny story as,
“as long as a piece of string. A really tiny piece of string that can stretch out from your pillow to [a] forest, weaving through mountains on the way and birds perch on it and sing.”
This morning I noticed the tiny beginnings of mangoes on the trees in my garden. I wondered what their story was…
Torn from the safety of his family,
his dream of growing old,
came to a tragic end.
Drawing inspiration from Joseph Gordon-Levitt’s collaborative HitRECord site, I have written my own tiny story about my upcoming holiday.
Created by underground artist, Wirrow, a tiny story is “as long as a piece of string. A really tiny piece of string that can stretch our from your pillow to [a] forest, weaving through mountains on the way and birds perch on it and sing.”
And so I kick off my holiday. Imagine the end of a movie with the picture fading into the distance until it slowly disappears and the credits emerge.
With work cast aside and relaxation rolled up neatly in my suitcase, I fly off into the sunset. Nothing but white sand and cerulean waters greet me upon arrival. Ocean air fills my lungs. I sigh, exhaling all stress.
“Beach at Pourville” Monet, 1882
“Angel with a Sword” by Marc Chagall (1956)
Lost in words, she sheds reality.
Sprouting gossamer wings,
she soared towards realms that offered endless escapades
on a silver platter.