Saint that I am, I also shot a bullfrog. But I don’t remember if it was before or after I shot the sparrow. When I shot the sparrow, I was alone. When I shot the bullfrog, I was with the boy who lived down the road on the farm adjacent to ours. We both shot the bullfrog. I remember being sickened by it at the time. I knew it was […]
More than fifty years later, I still think about the sparrow I shot and killed when I was a boy, and how, in one brutal, life-changing instant, it fell from our walnut tree and landed on the ground. Even now, I remember its tightly shut eyes and colorful feathers, which from a distance had seemed drab and gray, and the little grave I dug and placed it in. Thank goodness […]
Are those stars in your mirror, or is that your hair? And the space in your eyes? And the ship sailing there? . [ 1680 ]
Every bit as much as I love writing, I love not writing. Each love illuminates, energizes, and inspires the other. Each is an indispensable part of the other. Each is the other. To put it another way, I couldn’t love writing if I didn’t also love not writing. I say this because it’s impossible to remove some love and leave the rest. Love is indivisible. It is whole. In the […]
A state of which, contrary to a lifetime of observation and experience, one expects thought to solve the problems it has created. . [ 1676 ]
All, in time, is washed to the sea, and is reborn in the welcoming. . [ 1674 ]
William Michaelian 