Memorial
Willing to listen. Listening still. They gazed at the stone. At the grass and the ground. Felt the sun of his smile. . [ 1410 ]
Hypothetically Speaking
If I say something and you disagree, then what I say is my opinion; whereas, if you agree, then what I say is the truth. But must they be either? They weren’t when I was a child, because what I said then wasn’t viewed on such narrow terms. I was trying to express myself, and to communicate as best I could. I wasn’t right and I wasn’t wrong. I was […]
Medic
Your wings are cold, Mother. How will we live? There was no answer. A soft wind arose, moving her feathers. Another man fell. Brother! I’m here! . [ 1408 ]
Movement and Grace
Even an old elephant, as big and heavy as it is, shows grace in its movement and step. Squirrels, tigers, bears — all touch the earth with the minimum force necessary, whether engaged in foraging, hunting, teaching, or play. And the wild creatures that live alongside us in cities and towns are unfazed by our sidewalks, parking lots, and streets. Unshod and unclothed, they’re like animated springs. The idea that […]
Haiku / Run
Clear sky, bright moon, frogs by the thousands — one owl, one road, deep breath, footsteps. . [ 1406 ]
Step by Step
At seven millimeters, my new huaraches are the thinnest, most comfortable I’ve worn. And after a few walks to get used to them, I’ve now taken them for a run. These sandals will likely be the last bit of footwear I use, as I gradually ease into walking and running entirely barefoot — because I’ve realized that for me, the best, most comfortable, most reliable shoes I can wear are […]
A Few Clay Pots
Let’s leave behind a few clay pots and a worn out pair of sandals. As for dreams and thoughts, let’s keep them guessing. They will be anyway: Religion, music, poetry, science — cathedrals, symphonies, books — Fragments that represent, but never quite make, the whole. Our little daughter said it best with the very first word she spoke: Light. She was nine months old. And when she was seven, She […]
Sunrise, Sunset
Call me old-fashioned, but when it comes to clocks, I far prefer the sun. It’s faithful and reliable, but not insistent. It acts one way in the forest, another in the desert, or on the valley floor. North, south — who could ask for more? Early? Late? For heaven’s sake — what is living for? . [ 1403 ]
The Perfect Place
This moment is the perfect place to live and die and rest. It’s the perfect place for joy. Tell me: have you ever been anywhere else? Have you seen this moment end, or traveled beyond its edge? Tell me: where else would we have met? . [ 1402 ]
Without Arms
A slow run in the cold starry hour before dawn — up the hill, past the old couple’s crocuses still closed for the night, looking like color specialty shops where love models scarves and little boys wonder about their mother’s soft moles — to the corner, and then an eastward turn, ’neath streetlights that die as they burn — proud and solemn, trees without arms — without arms, without arms, […]
William Michaelian 