No TV or computer, only a piano and an old manual typewriter.
All relationships were real: family, neighbors, friends; our chickens and our dogs.
This was life on the farm in the Eighties before we moved to Oregon.
Writing on paper, tapping out lines, learning songs on the piano.
Working on the farm and in the garden.
Glad when someone came by.
Glad when they didn’t.
And now — yes, what of now?
How can this crazy, desperate present be justified?
How can it — we — I — be reconciled?
*
A swarm of ants on the sidewalk. The winter not cold enough, long enough, they say.
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Categories: Walks and Whispers
Tags: Ants, Chickens, Computers, Dogs, Internet, Memory, Music, Our Old Farm, Pianos, Television, Typewriters, Walking, Work
William Michaelian 