Two or three days ago, we were visited by a family of bluebirds — a rare thing for us here in the valley. The youngsters, of which we think there were two or three, were capable fliers, but still clumsy enough to occasionally miss their landing targets. The parents were feeding them atop the neighbor’s fence, a convenient flat board that served as their picnic table. They were around for […]
The primitive human in me doesn’t want to be sitting here at a keyboard. It wants to be gathering wood or picking berries. If I must tell stories, let it be near a fire, sung as a poem, or pounded out on a drum. . In life as in the library — may the sweetest, ripest fruit always be just out of reach. . A cloudy morning for the eclipse. […]
Not once has the earth lied to us, or deserted us, yet see how we treat her. Hummingbird, bluebird, mourning dove, crow. Wise, the still mountain. Where else to go? What else to know? . [ 1747 ]
William Michaelian 