The sound of rain. The blessèd certainty of it — think as I will, believe as I will, act as I will, the rain will fall on my grave, and that is a blessing too: a blessing to the stone, should I have one, a blessing to the soft green grass that grows over me. And for an epitaph, these two words will do: Listening. Still. May they describe you. […]
The physical world is a library of symbols.I read like a hummingbird, a ghost, a troubadour. January 5, 2021 . [ 977 ]
before / after / the wind / no wind January 2, 2021 Canvas 503January 2, 2015 . [ 974 ]
Your face is calendar enough for me, the lines, the seasons — what need of dates, where light and touch and grace agree? January 1, 2021 . Snow Lessons To write with the breath, to draw without touching a thing. Are these not snow lessons, and the patient teachings of steam? You say, This pen. This page. These keys. How can I not touch them? And from deep inside comes […]
A very rough night — but I did intercept the pass; and if only the field were not so far below, I could have run to the goal line, instead of laboriously treading air until my much delayed, unnoticed, unheralded arrival. Such are the rewards of greatness. More disturbing, however, was the haunted figure intent on changing faces, the last of which was the full moon. Change your face, I […]
While walking early this morning I remembered that John Muir once wrote about how the giant conifers in the high mountains of California rejoiced in storms. He knew, because he was out among them when the primitive, savage breath raged upon the peaks, across the waters, and through the meadows, glens, and canyons. His words were a lesson — as resistance would have been far more destructive to these great […]
Last night I dreamed I saw a bright, beautiful robin, with striking marks around his eyes. He stood before me in the grass. He did not say. I did not ask. December 24, 2020 . [ 967 ]
The pandemic has claimed the life of our neighbor. She was a kindhearted widow, eighty-two years old. The day after visiting her on Thanksgiving, her son died from the same cause. Yesterday evening, Saturn and Jupiter were hidden by fast-moving clouds. December 22, 2020 . Solstice The longest day is the shortest somewhere else a ripe plum fallen in decay half hidden by dead leaves and the promises they made […]
After two inches of rain, these lungs are best understood as sails, and this body a creaking, yet willing, ship — the air is that promising, that fresh, that clean. Seagulls on the city streets; the homeless, some just waking, others still asleep. The great conjunction of Jupiter and Saturn — if these clouds persist, will Christmas still come? History changes with the wind. It is the wake of the […]
William Michaelian 