In Quiet Moments
It may sound childish, but I marvel at how many things are happening all at once, and that, somehow, they become one thing — a single grand movement, which may or may not have meaning or direction, but, rather, the quality of blossoming, or unfolding, seemingly in my presence. My own body, with its wondrous workings, is an immediate example; it’s also a symbol, because in it there are battles […]
William Michaelian 