William Michaelian

Poems, Notes, and Drawings

Tag Archive for ‘Birds’

Lost Art

This morning, half an hour before sunrise, I heard two mourning doves: one across the street, calling from the neighbor’s fir tree; the other on the street south of ours, from the dense pine in front of a house sold a year or two ago by the elderly couple who used to live there. Early morning. Birds. Trees. And so the note I wrote August 1, 2018, already has that […]

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The Long View

The cherry knows, the oak, the pine, the walnut; the shore, the tide, the moon; all embody the art of taking the long view, and each is a stirring example of how to live and let live. Whatever comes, goes; whatever rises, falls; whatever breathes, thrives for a time, then dies. The sun burns away. The storm ends. The ones we hated, condemned, and feared go crying to their graves, […]

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Chance Burnings

It’s cold here, with an inch of snow and ice on the ground. Later today, an ice storm is expected, after which a warming rain should set in, freeing up the roads. Through it all, we marvel at the birds, the tiny ones especially, the hearty juncos; and then there are the romping squirrels, whose instinct for play hasn’t abated a whit. I was prompted to write this morning by […]

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Blood to the Toes

The sunflowers aren’t quite to the skeletal stage, but with the frost upon them, their flesh is rapidly melting away. The birds still come, the scrub jays, nuthatches, and finches. It’s a talkative town, but in stark, fleet moments there’s a blackening sense of the approaching end of conversation, and of new beginnings that must wait their turn in the ground. . If I’m discovered to be mad, what of […]

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Gutter Journal

A very humid atmosphere, heavy with mold. Stand still long enough and mushrooms will sprout on your arms. Yes, those are your arms, the ones you keep covered far too much of the time for fear of just such an outcome. Embarrassing, you say, to walk through the grocery store with mushrooms on your arms. And I say, balderdash, let them erupt, and see if they’re not admired by the […]

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Living Forever

Writing is one more way of living forever, like digging in the garden, making bread, and bathing a child. It’s a city lot, but if I walk the same narrow path through the yard to its every corner each and every day, my footsteps will form a scenic nature trail. Out, back, and around, in every direction and through all the seasons — who knows what I might see? We […]

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A Kind Snail

A warm, still night, with smoke enough to twitch the nose and rile the passages — but by four this morning, the atmosphere had lightened considerably, and the air was clear enough to go out for a run. At present, it feels like there’s more smoke inside the house than out. I saw no one save two cats, one black with a bell — a bell-black inky tinkler — one […]

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Jewels Wearing Clover Leaves

It’s not that nature answers all questions and problems, though it seems she does. It’s that she disposes of those not really worth asking or solving, and returns us, at least for a time, to a state of harmony with our most basic needs, and an understanding of how we’re connected to each other and all things. If you live in a city, even a single flower or plant near […]

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