William Michaelian

Poems, Notes, and Drawings

Tea and Oranges

Fennel seed tea with just a bit of blackberry honey: a timely cure for all the physical and mental ailments of which I remain unaware.

On the path beyond Goose Lake, we came to a place where a tree was down, blocking our way. Just inside the network of slender bare branches, there were two brown rabbits. They kept their eyes on us as we made the long way around.

We found similar destruction elsewhere, caused by recent high winds, which were accompanied by several violent downpours. This morning, however, the atmosphere was calm and filled with the kind of bird song one definitely associates with spring, the most numerous voices being those of starlings and robins. We did hear one woodpecker, working high up in a fir tree. The rains have sent the river rushing over the road again. Crows.

Here and there in the tender green grass, were bright new daisies just beginning to open.

If we are not looking upon this world, this universe, this vast cosmos with wonder, then what are we doing? Shall we grumble and have a bad day while the entire miracle of creation carries on its work in effortless perfect order? Are our thoughts and grievances really bigger than that which gives us birth and sustains us?

I think an orange would go well with the tea.

I think if you were to place your palm on my chest and listen to my heart beat through your hand, and if I were to listen to yours at the same time in the very same way, without the slightest amount of hurry or embarrassment, there would arise between us a most powerful, unbreakable bond of understanding.

Yes, we are this close.

February 4, 2021. Late afternoon.


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