The long nights, the deep, dark days, the eerie, sublime chill, shadows hidden within shadows, naked limbs, moss in every crevice and seam — if I’m lucky enough to emerge come spring, how can I arrive unchanged? In the street of an early morning, I’m amazed by the relentless human roar, the gasping of brakes, the grinding of gears, the howling of wheels, and I think, What means Sanity if […]
The blueberry and apricot are almost bare, their leafy colors beneath them. The grape is a mass of brush I’ve already pruned in my mind. The fig is yellow, with many leaves yet to fall — too late for Adam, too late for Eve. The ground is yellow too. I cut down the dahlias; we’ll be digging and storing them soon. The pine has shed almost all its yellowed needles, […]
My way is not the way. The way is your way. My way can never be your way. Your way can never be mine. I can follow your way. You can follow mine. Then we have no way. But all is not lost. For no way is the way to the way. . Read Bees and Their Keepers, by Lotte Möller, Pages 119-124. For the month of August: A Honey […]
When I ran this morning, I wore gloves and a snow cap, yet my bare feet were warm. . I’m aware that I write for a very small audience. I’m also aware that each member of that audience brings something to the writing that it most certainly needs: kindness and wings. . Gutter Journal, Numb. 4. Thursday, November 9, 2023. Cleaned back gutters and downspouts of fir needles and birch […]
Fall. The honey thickens. Visited the beach at Neskowin. Sunny, a light breeze from the north, temperature around sixty degrees. No sand fleas. The tide was coming in, but it wasn’t so high that we couldn’t see that since our barefoot stroll there two years ago, the ghost forest has been mostly covered with sand. Only the top of one of the heavily barnacled stumps was visible. The western-most part […]
Silence isn’t “one of those things.” It’s always present, and it never ends. What ends is our attention. Fortunately, silence is always there when we return. I wouldn’t say it’s waiting, but, then again, who knows, it might be. We can say all sorts of things about silence. We can say it pours like honey, Or that it melts like chocolate. We might liken it to the depths of the […]
If speech were a scent, what kind would you wear? Flowers and fields, or foul, fetid air? If it were stone, which would you choose? A rough, jagged rock, or one round and washed smooth? If it were rare, what would you use? Words that are fair, or words that are cruel? And the children smiled and said, Honey and lavender. The teacher bowed. Just as a wise one would […]
Remember, everyone you meet is living the precious gift of their lives. So don’t be hasty. Don’t criticize. Be patient. Be considerate. Be kind. Realize, each is you in disguise, Honey sweet, honey sour, Honey wise. . [ 1766 ]
As sure is pure is sour honey. As fine as grape is wine. As must is dust is dust as fine. As ash as flash is light to pass. As red as rose and ink is pose. As rain above is love below. As if as all one needs to know. As mine and yours as time. . * D’aussi sure qu’est la pureté l’est au miel citronné. Comme l’est […]
A falling star — a petal bright, from the flower. * Some books I leave open, so that during daylight hours, I can read a few lines from them in passing. Diaries, journals, letters, poetry, too — and it’s all poetry, beginning with the light coming in through the window. Or call it pollen, or honey, because the words coat the wings, and sweeten the tongue. * How many things […]
William Michaelian 