I have no idea what possessed me, just as I have no idea what possesses me now. Possessed, in the way a leaf or bubble is possessed by a slowly moving river, just before it reaches the falls. Three Drawings — I invite you to look at these. At the time they were first published, very few did, Poems, Notes, and Drawings then being only in its third installment. I […]
How pleasantly strange, once again, to find myself running through the neighborhood at four in the morning, while no one else is out and about. And on this new day, what is the first thought I remember? How few thoughts. The others, before and after, have drifted into space. Maybe they’ll find a home out there. Maybe that is their home, except out there is also in here — this […]
The moon, hidden by a bright, sprawling cloud — an illuminated island, complete with inlets and shore, a drifting, conscious continent. Yesterday evening, and into the early morning hours, there was a very active thunderstorm. What was left of the day’s heat was quickly washed away, the air sweetened with rain mixed with small hail. The crickets became lightning bugs. At one point we heard laughter in the street; this […]
heavy dew . . . bare feet / sunrise / hummingbird / watering can . . . . [ 1825 ]
Hummingbird air poppy fair long stem slender neck blood-red sipping cup . [ 1778 ]
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 ]
a few last sweet peas a hummingbird at sunrise a drink and a breeze August 3, 2022 . [ 1509 ]
Yesterday I saw a hummingbird visit a small spider that had made its web in the juniper, about fifteen feet above the ground. Twice it appeared to touch the spider with its long beak, and each time it did so, the spider held perfectly still. Then, when the hummingbird zipped away, the spider moved to the tip of the nearest branch. It’s hard to know exactly what happened. The hummingbird […]
A rosy-fingered dawn. Hummingbird, says Agapanthus, this is love. July 27, 2021 . [ 1177 ]
After some time away, I’ve drifted back into Emerson’s journal, where, after reading for a while today, I found myself on Page 590 of the first volume of the two-volume Library of America edition. This time around, the searching sweetness of his observations makes me feel like a butterfly or hummingbird; his hesitations, confessions, and insights are flowers. It’s a springtime, summertime reading. Our grapes are in bloom. After losing […]
William Michaelian 