Childish notes — some things never change. And some things, are not things, at all. Summer in the vineyard, a small boy sitting under a vine, hidden by all the other vines. Thinking of it still, of the stillness, still that still, nigh sixty-eight years old, in full. One breath in all — one moment, one grand revelation, one sensation, of being. Alive, blue jeans to the ground, the same […]
The recently acquired collection of Shakespeare prints reminds me of the heavy old albums of 78 rpm records we have tucked away in one of our old cabinets, and which were around and still played on occasion during my childhood years. It also reminds me of many other things that used to be solid, substantial, and made to last, such as furniture and pots and pans. But ours is not […]
Note: To operate the camera, cradle your life in such a way, standing above it, and in it, looking down, through it, and all around, from childhood to dawn, then press the button that takes the picture — and be sure not to frown, when you realize you forgot the film. . Thoreau’s journal, entries for March 2 and March 4, 1854. The First Bluebird. Golden Senecio Leaves. The Melting […]
I collect sentences as I collected sticks and feathers when I was a boy, and then I forget them when night-time comes. How much of pain can be attributed to its original cause, and how much to the fear it will grow worse, and maybe not end? If I’m still alive at suppertime, I think I’ll set the table with the yellow dishes my parents often used when I was […]
War is never there, it’s always here. There’s no such thing as murder in the third person. Like you, I tried. Very hard. Too hard. Now I don’t try at all. But you need not believe any of it. You’re free to think that you and I are trying now. Corn on the cob is something we have only when it’s ripe locally in the fall. I usually slice it […]
I’m not only a floor-sweeper, I’m a floor-sleeper. And I’ve never swept, or slept, better. I sweep my dreams, those I can remember, and I sleep my broom. We both are kind to dustpans. Over the years, I’ve found all mattresses to be back-breakers. Finally, it dawned on me that humans aren’t really meant to sleep that way. Now I can stretch out anywhere, on any firm surface, drift off […]
You haven’t changed a bit — ( those childhood years chiseled in stone pillar and bone time wears on ) . [ 1761 ]
It’s indicative of character, I think, that beyond my immediate family, my dearest, closest friends are people I’m unlikely ever to meet in the flesh, and who live hundreds or thousands of miles away. It’s also indicative of the times, for without social media, email, and online publishing, chances are great that our paths would never have crossed. As it is, the number is still small. I have many acquaintances, […]
Must I learn the hard way? A valid question, perhaps — if there is a choice, and if it comes to that. But the gentle road is oft-mistaken — like an autumn breeze, or an old gray cat that’s lost its teeth, and can’t fight back. Am I on it now? Is there worse to come? I no longer ask. I carry on. I remember the night Cisco died. I […]
Standing between the hot, vibrating fender and the seat, there was just room enough for me to ride beside my father on the tractor. At three miles an hour, we went up and down the vineyard rows, transported by the mellow, acoustic hum of the gas engine as dozens of blackbirds crowded behind us to hunt for worms and bugs in the newly turned soil. This, too, was paradise. There […]
William Michaelian 