In me is a little something of everyone who ever lived. Deep in the code, I’ve been through it all. The universe, too, is in my flesh, blood, and bones. That means I’m part of the greatest, most efficient recycling project ever known. As such, I’ve learned not to cling to the idea of being who I am, or who others think I am, or to worry about what will […]
Children of the Precipice, it’s time for authenticity, not pose. * To heal a part, you must love the whole. * As a participant in this beautiful immensity, I don’t feel insignificant, I feel fortunate. With each breath, I’m as near as the apple and worm, and as far as the most distant star. We’re intimately related and uniformly blessed, part of the same miracle. . [ 1661 ]
apples crisp, maples rose and yellow / geese in flight, wet feet on cold stone . [ 1604 ]
afternoon sun / the first ripe apple / and an oven to bake it in . [ 1581 ]
When the apple on the table met the one in my mind, they spoke of the distance between blossom and knife. And I of this childhood at the end of my life. November 20, 2021 . [ 1295 ]
At lunch today we had our first apple of the season, a crisp, juicy representative of a variety called Smitten. It struck us both as the apple of a lifetime, the inspiring result of a rare combination of events forever and well beyond our control. Alive in a universe many billions of years old, conscious in bodies made of star-stuff — is it any wonder we are so easily and […]
last year’s apples — this year’s prices — like the other thoughts I set aside March 29, 2021 Canvas 872 April 6, 2017 . [ 1061 ]
So many kinds of apples, in sugar, scent, and blush — in a dream — as you undress — I see their orchards bloom. [ 686 ]
A full three hours before dawn, and the geese at the pond are already in an uproar. What starts them so, there in the dark? What fuels their urge and feeds their eyes at this hour? Their sound makes light of the intervening mile. Waxed apples are a modern tragedy. Surely their trees would weep to see them. A truck hauling apples across the country is a chilled mausoleum. The […]
Such beautiful apples! Which shall I bring home? I bend the bough. I pick the sun. [ 538 ]
William Michaelian 