I simply can’t pass my remaining years this way. It’s better to be in my library, mumbling in languages I’ll never quite understand, English among them. I’ve no more patience with the internet. It drains me, lames me, tames me. I knew more about the world When I was seven: Sunshine is love. So is wet mud. And both are their own perfect heaven. ~ [ 2079 ]
I ran a little later this morning, though I was done well before sunrise. Still, light was growing in the east, and I was treated to the first early-morning round of robin-song I’ve heard this late-winter, early-spring. One bird was perched on a low retaining wall, singing as it watched me go by, a scene that repeats itself every year, and which always remains new. I’ve run every day now […]
One neighbor on hospice, another confused. Sun finds its way through the woods. ~ [ 2077 ]
In my seventy years I must also have walked twenty-three hundred miles or more. Of course not every step was taken in peace, for peace. If only they had been. Alas, many were wasted. But I’m learning. ~ [ 2076 ]
If you were to ask me what I really do, I wouldn’t know what to answer, except that it appears to be very little. I write decently, and say some decent things, but I’m probably at my best when I’m not writing, and even better when I’m not saying anything at all. Sometimes I think that if I were to remain silent long enough, the meaning of my lifetime of […]
A warm, steady rain. Sirens half a mile away. A common sound these days. Doctor, I have pain. It’s fading now. To rain. ~ [ 2074 ]
Never sent a text, Or had a mobile phone. The best apps I know? Mourning dove, Rising moon. ~ [ 2073 ]
During a brisk walk by the river yesterday morning, we saw two vacant, rugged osprey nests — one in a tall, dead cottonwood tree, the other in a sparse, narrow fir. Both will likely be in use again this spring and summer. We did hear an osprey calling out from over the water, but we didn’t catch sight of it. There are hints of spring in the landscape, though the […]
Why spend a precious lifetime trying to be someone, trying to make a name while going it alone, when all you really need is to be unknown and be in tune? ~ [ 2071 ]
So many ways of publishing — I would gladly step away from it all And be a bird singing from a treetop, or a wise man silent on the roof. ~ [ 2070 ]
William Michaelian 