Thanksgiving
When the apple on the table met the one in my mind, they spoke of the distance between blossom and knife. And I of this childhood at the end of my life. November 20, 2021 . [ 1295 ]
Tag Archive for ‘Life’
The Last Word
If, in the end, what we have written or told is only a story, That, too, is well, because it is the very same thing that life has done. And even given our last word, the story goes on. See us in the Index, under Ocean, Under Flight, under Stone. . [ 1294 ]
Feathers and Dust
When once we see everything is a flower — from wayward child to walnut shell, changing sky to ancient, mottled hand — we understand that no measurement or value can express the shimmering grace of this world. Life is so fine and so rare, it cannot be fathomed by means of comparison, or appreciated on such narrow, limiting terms. Just as there is profound strength in the whole, the individual […]
Your Flower Body
Have you crumbled soil in your hands and held it to your nose? That is just one thing a flower knows. Behold your flower body. It blooms. It fades. It grows. November 10, 2021 . [ 1284 ]
Morning Call
When it’s time to rest, let your sleep be death. And if you wake, let surprise be your infinite gratitude. November 4, 2021 . [ 1278 ]
Resting on the Rim
Insects, resting on the rim of a wide blue flowerpot; a bird, eating them one by one; each is acting according to its need, until the need is no more. No greed, no poverty, no depleted resources; no waste, no alleys lined with overflowing garbage cans. Good fortune: in times of plenty, all are filled; when times are lean, all are lean. Gratitude: to be here now, in joy and […]
Life, Death, Fall
This morning I finished Edward O. Wilson’s Naturalist. After lunch I read in Emerson’s journal about the death of his little boy, Waldo. Two months ago, I ordered Library of America’s forthcoming two-volume edition, Molière: The Complete Richard Wilbur Translations. Today I removed the plants from the pots, barrels, and planters behind the house. I also cleared the gutters, which were full to the brim with birch leaves and fir […]
West to Goose Lake
We are made for this. We are made from this. We are this. West to Goose Lake October 28, 2021 . [ 1273 ]
In the Interim
If I had no knowledge of clocks and calendars, how old would I be? If there were no one to tell me, would I be any age at all? But I do know. And since I do, I ask myself how this knowledge has shaped me. Has it limited my understanding? Has it expanded it? Has it done neither, or both? Moreover, I did not seek this knowledge. Like so […]
Not Only Trees
Trees are not only trees: they pretend to be trees. They know I am used to seeing and thinking of them as trees, and are kind enough to act accordingly. At the same time, like me, they are what they are by virtue of a process that disperses and combines everything in the universe to arrive at something familiar, yet always original and new. And so now, in effect, it […]
William Michaelian 
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