One hundred seventeen degrees. It may be that someday this lush green valley will be a desert. After all, it was once covered with ice. Yesterday we saw someone driving a big noisy pickup with flames painted on its sides. The bed was full of his beliefs and opinions, some of which blew out and were scattered along the roadside. He ran the light at Apocalypse and Ego, then sped […]
One hundred thirteen degrees. Yesterday afternoon, in the grass behind the house, we set a little sprinkler for the birds. It made a shallow lake in the shade. And out they came from the bushes, and down from the trees, children of the leaves. The tomatoes and peppers did not mind the heat. We protected the cucumbers with a sheet. We will again today. At four this morning it was […]
Five in the morning. Seventy degrees. A light dew. Is there a way to separate memory from smell? It seems one is dry grass, and the other is ripening fruit. Shall we ask the toes? Is there anything they do not know? Early morning watering. The humans are expecting temperatures today as high as one hundred seven degrees. The plants, though, show no sign of concern. Which should we believe? […]
Found blooming along the path on the Goose Lake trail: ocean spray, chicory, and thyme; also daisies, blackberries, clover, and St. John’s wort. Barefoot a quarter-mile, upon an old maiden aunt’s carpet of drying grasses. The sound of bees in her parlor, made by a swarm in the largest of the black walnut trees near the old Mission cottonwood. Or is it her tea kettle? Just past the cottonwood, the […]
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 ]
William Michaelian 