Dry pavement. Thirty-four degrees. Stars, clouds, fog. I was passed by a young runner this morning whose footsteps were so loud they started a dog barking. He was on the sidewalk, I was in the middle of the road. Someday, if the young runner is lucky, he will be an old runner. If he’s even luckier, he’ll be a running elder, prized for his wisdom in all the villages around. […]
When we set out in the cold this morning, the body said, Are we sure? We didn’t answer, of course. And when we finished our run, with our feet wet and warm, the body again said, Are we sure? We climbed the steps, let ourselves in. Took off our wet cap, dried our sandals, and propped them against the wall above the furnace vent. Coffee? we said. Gladly, was the […]
Thirty-seven degrees. A snow sky. Vegetable plants in the garden shops. The heart leaps, a bird peeps, returns to its fir needle bed. I wish I had written that. And the life that led to it? Do you wish you had lived that as well? A fondness for quoting Jesus — but crucifixion is something else. A crown of thorns. Nails through the palms. Snow in April? Isn’t that unusual? […]
A few words about my recently departed brother — a short, incomplete remembrance, if you will: Kirk was born November 22, 1946, on our parents’ third anniversary. He was named Kourken Haig, after our father’s mother’s youngest brother, Kourken, and after our father’s older brother, Haig, who was killed in the Second World War. Kirk didn’t begin talking until he was four — then, suddenly, he started in with what […]
Two and a half miles and two owls. Robins and rain. Petals and pollen. Street, feet, sandal-squeak. And that was my run. My brother’s funeral has come and gone. It was in Edmonton. We were here at home. There was video provided the next day, despite a power outage during the service, which left the room dark. A side door had to be opened to admit some light. Admit the […]
One street over, there’s a light that’s crowded ’round by a flowering wild cherry. Running past, the stars still out, it looks like the light itself ’s in bloom. Maybe this is why the robins sing at such an early hour — and why, When my heart and lungs are full with scent and sound, My feet, at least for a little while, don’t quite touch the ground. . [ […]
Kindness is everything. It’s a way of life. It’s love in the form of an action. It’s gratitude for all things, not just for those of one’s arbitrary choosing. If we’re not grateful for loss and pain and death, then we’re most certainly not equal to their perceived opposites. One of those beauties is that if we happen to forget any of this, we’re reminded by new acts of kindness. […]
I note here the death of my eldest brother, Kirk. A research scientist in the field of photoacoustic infrared spectroscopy, Kirk was overtaken mid-stride late last May by an aggressive brain tumor. They ran side by side for a while, but the tumor was an ill-mannered competitor without the capacity to appreciate Kirk’s steady, fair-minded pacifism. Like so many of us, the tumor had to win. And so, two days […]
William Michaelian 