Low Tide
It’s easy to say, I want the best for everyone and everything, but it’s quite plain to me I don’t know what that best is. Lovely birch — her paper bark — no need for a pen today. [ 728 ]
New Poems & Pieces
Fossil Poetry
The well ran dry. He dug deeper, and deeper, his back to the soft spring rain. Fossil Poetry I’m tempted to say writing is what keeps me sane, but I think we’d better reserve judgment on that. The opposite could easily be true. Writing might be what keeps me insane. Or, my insanity might be what keeps me writing. Then again, it might be my sanity that keeps me […]
Just Enough to Wash Away
Yesterday’s birds: towhees, chickadees, robins, starlings, scrub-jays, downy woodpeckers, flickers, doves, geese, hummingbirds, crows — and, late in the evening, with my throat feeling a bit dry, two timely swallows. Yesterday’s planting: twenty-one dahlias — twelve in the main garden, three in the “test plot,” and three under the kitchen window where our daughter’s little boys used to dig for treasure. Yesterday’s walk: barefoot in the grass in front of […]
Harvest
A barefoot journal, written entirely outdoors — why have I never done such a thing? This afternoon, within five minutes of walking out into the warm grass in front of the house, I was renewed and restored. Whatever the time of year, I’m in the habit of going barefoot inside — but it’s not the same. Five hours or five lifetimes — carpet is carpet, tile is tile, vinyl is […]
May Day
I’m still reading Vincent’s letters, and will be for quite some time. I continue with Thoreau’s journal, a fourteen-volume project. I’m about fifty pages into William Wetmore Story and His Friends, from Letters, Diaries, and Recollections, by Henry James, published in two volumes in 1904. I’ve begun the Library of America edition of John Muir’s nature writings. And I’ve just finished at Home with Disquiet, a wonderful new collection of […]
Shoreline
The moonlight, and our boat — don’t they make a lovely pair? Their faded paint, and silver hair? O dear one — how long have we — been sitting here? [ 720 ]
A Mighty Wind Is
Yesterday evening, I learned something: to finish reading The Letters of Henry Adams is to want to read his books all over again; and it is to want to read the lives and letters of his friends. April 7, 2020 A Mighty Wind Is A mighty wind is thrashing the firs. Yesterday, the crows were busy gathering wood for their nests. When the wind dies down, they will resume. […]
x Frames
When I see birds chase each other through the maze of the budding fig tree without so much as touching a twig, I realize how quickly they must be processing the visual information given them by their eyes. If I view the scene at x frames per second, they must be viewing it at x frames a great many times over; it is this, perhaps, that makes them wise. Perhaps, […]
One More Cherry Blossom Poem
Death, or politics? Politics have neither death’s dignity nor purpose; and they lack death’s sublime, optimistic future; for after death, that which is once said to have been living, goes on living in myriad forms and ways; whereas politics are an accumulation of toxic waste matter that is dangerous to all living things. That politics often cause death, is reason enough to set them aside. Why sacrifice my precious energy […]
Moved
The breeze — her hair — held pink-white snow. She knew her lines and said them well. Now her leaves hide not her nakedness. And she — so kind — that I — should know. April 4, 2020 [ 716 ]
William Michaelian 