The solutions I sought after a hard day of disappointment were rejected in the blackest form of sick, unintentionally marring and contrasting with a beautiful brass peace bowl. I hope it washes off.
Dark wet stone over which tumbles clear cascades of water. Watch it glisten and sparkle in sunlight, while insects and critters and other players in the ecosystem dance all around it. The rivulets, though light are wearing paths over the hard stone.
I read these words, and this is the image that comes to mind:
I picture women outside by a stream, maybe under trees, vigorously cleaning laundry and chatting with each other. There is lots of splashing and laughing. All around them, their daughters are mingling with one another, some chasing each other and shouting challenges, and others sharing secrets and dreams.