Thyme is blooming in abundance along the Goose Lake trail; also Queen Anne’s Lace and poison hemlock. There is less chicory this year. We saw sixteen rabbits on our walk of two and a half miles, watching us and waiting in the path, until their last-second run for cover. Tansy. Blackberries. Thistles. Twice, we ran for a short distance. The volunteer cherry tomatoes at the foot of our garden space […]
The movement of birds, leaves, and insects; the changing patterns of light and shade; clouds; a walker passing by; all accompanied by subtle changes in humidity and temperature — these are the things we miss when we stay indoors and focus for too long on books and screens. Not only do we miss them, we miss the naturally beneficial medicine of our physical engagement and response to random stimuli, our […]
I go on reading things in Emerson’s journal he thought would never see print. And yet here they are, more than a century and a half later, and so here is Emerson. Almost word for word, I remember many things said by my grandparents. And so here they are. Friends, parents, relatives, animals, places, here they are, to be forgotten and remembered for however long. And here we are. Glaciers. […]
So many things live only for a day — flowers, insects, rain, and sometimes people — yet see how different, how strange the world would be without them. Love it all. Never look away. To embrace, rather than resist, the ephemeral nature of sharing one’s thoughts online. Helped, and also haunted by, mechanical memory. The neat, efficient archive (see cemetery rows, honeycomb) is for oneself, for the idle many, the […]
Like April, and again like May, June has been a cool, cloudy, rainy month — much more so than what is considered normal, but of course normal is nothing but an average of the dry years and the wet years taken together. Last June, for a stretch of several days, we had to cover our cucumbers and dahlias with sheets to protect them from record high temperatures, which registered, at […]
You ask what happens when we die, I say the weather’s fine and the soil’s warming nicely. You ask how to make good garden compost, I say yes, that’s it exactly. What’s it? you want to know. I say the dirt between your toes, the ever changing clouds. You say you hate to leave it all behind. I say try this shovel, it’s the one my father used. . [ […]
/ before / after / in between . . . your little light is on / . [ 1447 ]
When we expect or fear the worst, we increase the chance of it happening, and of making ourselves the instrument that helps bring it about. Observe; go into it carefully; the evidence is all around us. The same can be said of expecting the best. Of course, it’s worth asking if we can always, or even possibly, know what’s worst and best. The most sensible approach is to leave that […]
What does the robin sing to the moon? Farewell? Don’t go? I’m here? Soft clouds? Or does he sing to the moon at all? My Joy? My life? My love? . [ 1435 ]
Kindness is everything. It’s a way of life. It’s love in the form of an action. It’s gratitude for all things, not just for those of one’s arbitrary choosing. If we’re not grateful for loss and pain and death, then we’re most certainly not equal to their perceived opposites. One of those beauties is that if we happen to forget any of this, we’re reminded by new acts of kindness. […]
William Michaelian 