Australopithecus afarensis. Homo habilis. Homo erectus. Homo sapiens. What is generally referred to as ancient wisdom is of such recent vintage, that one can only begin to wonder what wisdom really is. And, biologically speaking, when, and where, and how, did the soul creep in? Was it present in the man-apes with brains the size of those in chimpanzees? Did God say — each word requiring millions of years to […]
A rosy-fingered dawn. Hummingbird, says Agapanthus, this is love. July 27, 2021 . [ 1177 ]
Two hummingbirds, in and about the maple and juniper: two steps of a hummingbird ladder, climbing into evening. One green apricot, gnawed on while still in its bloom jacket, or soon thereafter, fallen to the ground, possibly nudged by its mates to its doom. Happy for all that. Look at me, Mom, I made it alone. Afternoon, marching backwards. Morning, a bright cheery clown. Dawn, roses in bloom. On the […]
daybreak / a singing robin / sees my toes / then sings a little louder Canvas 874 April 12, 2017 . [ 1067 ]
Well, for one thing, tho’ the street lights are on all night, they don’t say a word. Then, at the first hint of daylight, even on the darkest and cloudiest of mornings, they start singing and calling to one another from the trees. And so the street lights are lighter than daylight, and dawn is darker than night. But the robins — yes, the robins, still get it right. February […]
Cold mountain. Blue dawn. White wings. Ancient times were not so long ago. Those to come? What will they bring? And whose are these bare feet? Canvas 1,086November 8, 2017 . [ 912 ]
A thunderstorm began yesterday evening at about eight, with faraway rumbles and flashes of lightning to the east, which gradually increased and grew nearer during the night, until about two-thirty this morning, when we were engulfed in a loud and steady display, the house windows pulsing with light. This lasted about an hour, but out of it came little rain. The smokiness persists. And here in the dark, with more […]
Up at three-thirty, for no particular reason, other than, like an oft-reheated meal, the sleeper was done, and then some. But the night joys are great ones, with dawn coming on. Dawn, the grand assumption. It is a cricket-morning, the first of the late-summer, early-fall season. Crickets cast no votes. They do not need mail boxes or polling places. They have no gerrymandered districts. They have rhythm and purpose. They […]
Almost dawn — the first dove — as if love is a sweet eccentricity [ 735 ]
Early morning. Fresh air, dark clouds, robin-song. And I ask myself — In this paradise, if I am not ready to die, have I ever really lived? March 25, 2020 Blind Fishermen It’s been so long — I think of writing you today. Do you think of writing me? — And do you wonder what to say? So many letters set out this way — Like little rafts at […]
William Michaelian 