Accidental
A few chords on the piano, smooth the keys to my hand. Bare feet on the pedals. How many years has it been? A crate of old music. The wind. Shall I try to play again? August 22, 2022. Late Afternoon. . [ 1528 ]
Tag Archive for ‘Bare Feet’
Combinations
Another early-morning skunk visit: when I opened our front door at four, our fluffy friend was passing by. When I went out at four-thirty to run, its scent was strong in the air. When I returned, the scent was gone — which is to say, it had become part of the breathable atmosphere we all share, thus making us part skunk. Stardust and skunk. Roses, too. Violence and intelligence do […]
Three Thousand Books
In this house there are three thousand books. Early in the morning, I go out and read the cool, damp grass with my bare feet. When I come back inside, there are still three thousand books. There are fir needles, flower petals, a clover leaf. . [ 1510 ]
Repetition
Late yesterday evening, I was taking a barefoot stroll through the clover in front of the house when I saw, about ten feet away, a fine healthy skunk in the shade garden, quietly sniffing amongst the ferns. It had two white stripes. It seemed not to notice me. And in that instant I didn’t notice myself. That came immediately after, when I softly turned away and left it alone. There […]
From Jade to Fern
Star detail. Northbound clouds, lit by a sun an hour from rising. Clover detail. Leaves cool, and only slightly damp. Spider detail. A web from jade to fern. Breath detail. The boundless, timeless happening of oneself. Zen detail. Unique, like everything and everyone else. The same, in a different way. Inseparable as peace and the gentle eyes of a cow, as joy and the sound of her bell. July 30, […]
A Dewy Understanding
A slow run, the last sliver of moon just rising, the streets quiet and calm. With the arrival of the summer heat, our former high temperatures are now the lows, even as the days, little by little, grow shorter, and the cloudless, starry nights, as if by their own magic, add unto themselves. The grass in front of the house has yielded again to clover. The bare feet rejoice in […]
Time and Shoes
It’s easy to live without clocks where there are none. My early childhood was one of those places. Now, in this childhood, I’ve hidden the clock on the computer. I wonder: was teaching me how to tell the time an act of kindness, or unwitting cruelty? And might I not ask the same thing about putting on and tying my shoes? In both instances, shouldn’t the teaching also have stressed, […]
Acorns and Oaks
I ran before five yesterday morning in a driving wind and rain. The only person I met was a very large skunk, which was crossing the road in front of me when it stopped briefly at the sound of my footsteps, then scurried on. It ran along the edge of the opposite sidewalk for a distance of about a hundred feet before taking cover in some bushes. The rain was […]
The One My Father Used
You ask what happens when we die, I say the weather’s fine and the soil’s warming nicely. You ask how to make good garden compost, I say yes, that’s it exactly. What’s it? you want to know. I say the dirt between your toes, the ever changing clouds. You say you hate to leave it all behind. I say try this shovel, it’s the one my father used. . [ […]
A C-Minus Paper at Ten Thousand Feet
Two and a half miles: frogs the first time around, robins and owls the second. Forty-one degrees. Sandal-free and completely barefoot for a distance of three houses. To reflect the world, and everything and everyone in it, as clearly and truly as a high mountain lake; and when looking into that lake, to see the world and everything and everyone it. In school we were taught not to use incomplete […]
William Michaelian 