Trace luxury to its source: a refrigerator is a cool stream or a block of ice; a light bulb is the sun; a book is a troubadour or elder; a car is two bare feet; an oven is fire; food is the earth; a computer is the mind; breath is life. Trace each source to its source: wonder is defined. June 24, 2021 . [ 1144 ]
Early morning. The little birds come close, just to say yes to the man with the hose. Their eyes meet. He nods and smiles. Ferns, moss, rhododendron. Lilac, cedar, dandelion. They drink from the leaves as more trickles down. Blessed are the boughs. Sweet is the ground. So the song goes. All together now. June 22, 2021 . [ 1142 ]
Grass fires. Forest fires. Climate change. Drought. A neighbor decides he does not like his wise old fir. He cuts it down. Grinds the stump. Pours concrete. Complains about his electricity bill. June 21, 2021 . Drought Laughter in the well. Granddad, you come out of there. Buried him that very same year. Songs and Letters, January 30, 2009 . [ 1141 ]
We do not have to understand each other to love each other.And without love, we will never understand. June 20, 2021 Shelter December 16, 2009#2 Pencil on Index Card Primitive: Selected Drawings in Pixel, Pencil & Pen 2010 . [ 1140 ]
A clear, quiet dawn. Forty-nine degrees. Barefoot on the dew-soaked grass. If a church is a sacred place, so is a hospital, so is a barn, so is a kitchen or playground. Everything is sacred or nothing is, yet most people think they can pick and choose. They think they know. They think they can perceive a difference. They see as divided a world that is whole. Tiny peppers. Tiny […]
How many of us realize we are teachers by our actions? How many of us know we are learners by grace? How many of us rejoice in the infinite and give thanks? June 15, 2021 Canvas 926 June 13, 2017 . [ 1136 ]
How to describe the complex scent left behind by yesterday’s rain? First the nose asks the toes. Then they all have a good laugh at the brain. June 14, 2021 . Sunday Morning as Rain Approached Sunday morning as rain approached, we walked by the river among snowing cottonwoods. I inhaled a pound of lint. Yesterday I heard a girl I grew up with lost her husband to cancer. I […]
A poem of a sentence from Emerson’s journal, written 19 June, 1838: A young lady came here whose face was a blur & gave the eye no repose. The story behind it? Gone. Or is it still to be written? Mass shooting. I wonder how old I was when I first heard or read that term. No matter — now it is commonly used in plural form. It was certainly […]
I know nothing of heroism, bravery, or courage. I simply try to do what’s called for or needed. To do that, I must recognize that need. And the need is always present; it arises anew each and every moment. So I, too, must be present. And I can’t be present if I’m chasing half-truths and recycled thoughts, or laboring in defense of my own self-made legend. I might rescue someone […]
There was a little rain yesterday, and some again last night. At six this morning I swept the driveway. Then I swept the sidewalk, which was covered with a nice accumulation of fine needle growth from the juniper. The sidewalk, being mostly shaded most of the time, is quite mossy. It’s also in fairly rough shape, with pits and divots where stones have worked their way free from the concrete. […]
William Michaelian 