And Man probably reveals more about me than it does the human condition, though I can’t separate myself from that condition, and wouldn’t care to if I could. I don’t want to see myself as something apart from everyone and everything else. If I’m lucky, I’ll rise as far as the condition allows, while it’s clear by this drawing I have already fathomed its depths. There’s a key element here: […]
Is there anything better for children than being outside, off of the pavement, and away from all forms of electronics? Is there anything better for adults? Is there anything better than dirty hands and dirty feet that have been made that way by several hours of willing contact with the soil? Is there anything better than absorbing the sights, sounds, and scents in the mountains, at the beach, or beside […]
The face on the right might be appropriate for a volume about ancient Rome; the one on the left looks almost as old, as if a monk long ago had seen it in a dream — or maybe the dreamer was drawn by another monk while he was asleep. Or maybe both were asleep. Either way, however it happened, I myself awoke from a dream this morning in which I […]
I still rise around four in the morning, and I still enjoy a sip before dawn. And the time itself is one of stillness, and solitude. It’s not a big cup, but the coffee is black and strong, the way I knew I’d love it even in my childhood, long before I’d tasted of the miraculous bean. The cedar is now large enough to walk under, instead of having to […]
Having been friends with Glen doesn’t make me a hero. And yet it occurs to me now that, in the pieces I’ve written about him, it’s possible I’ve portrayed myself as such, as if my survival of his death from cancer at the age of eighteen, were somehow more important than what he suffered and the price he and his family ultimately paid. And, other than the fact that he […]
Taken literally, each word of the short poem that is Long Train is a sturdy, useful brick; and so I might say, if there is something you hope to build, it always pays to begin with good materials. Such materials are most readily found in nature, but there are times and places where the harsh, rough emblems of the city are just as useful, and even beautiful. I have employed […]
Long ago, in my fabled childhood, my piano teacher, Mrs. Crawford, told my mother one evening that I had perfect pitch. This was in my first year, when I used to sing with every note — not because it was expected of me, or that it was part of the lesson; the singing was a spontaneous result of everything that was going on — the sound, the feel of the […]
Footfall to the Nth degree equals Thunder. Such is the startling extent of my mathematical prowess. What I learn from this is that my writing is not of a loud, urban nature, and never will be. Everything is quiet and cushioned with moss. Where the acorn falls, an oak is allowed to grow. I am as old as the hills; a babe in arms; a satisfied smile after a bowl […]
Season is one of those words that goes to our origin in language; as we ripen, so do the words and the languages we use. At the same time, we are the words and languages we use. And, for better or for worse, the words and languages use us, and we are thereby revealed. This is how they change and grow, how they disappear or slowly crumble into proud obsolescence. […]
Nigh on seven years, and the mossy fern garden is still there, crowded with natives that can be found all over our area; we see them when we’re hiking at Silver Falls, where, season upon season, they live and die for each other in a freedom most of us are afraid to imagine for ourselves. There is not one inch of this earth, if left free of our meddling, that […]
William Michaelian 