Footfall to the Nth degree equals Thunder. Such is the startling extent of my mathematical prowess. What I learn from this is that my writing is not of a loud, urban nature, and never will be. Everything is quiet and cushioned with moss. Where the acorn falls, an oak is allowed to grow. I am as old as the hills; a babe in arms; a satisfied smile after a bowl […]
The cherry knows, the oak, the pine, the walnut; the shore, the tide, the moon; all embody the art of taking the long view, and each is a stirring example of how to live and let live. Whatever comes, goes; whatever rises, falls; whatever breathes, thrives for a time, then dies. The sun burns away. The storm ends. The ones we hated, condemned, and feared go crying to their graves, […]
It’s been so long — I think of writing you today. Do you think of writing me? — And do you wonder what to say? So many letters set out this way — Like little rafts at sea — And we — Blind fishermen — Should Odysseus pass this way — Would he know us by our hunger — Or our bravery? Blind Fishermen. April 15, 2020. Poems, Notes, and […]
Like some others recently installed in the neighborhood, the new streetlight near Don and Jane’s house doesn’t have a plastic enclosure for the bulb. And this morning I noticed a spider has built a web across one of the four exposed sides. Beaded with moisture from the fog, it was beautifully illuminated. The spider could have chosen any bush or tree growing nearby. Instead, it climbed the smooth, silver pole […]
First a maple, then an oak — after the storm, the trees go on raining. . [ 1596 ]
I ran before five yesterday morning in a driving wind and rain. The only person I met was a very large skunk, which was crossing the road in front of me when it stopped briefly at the sound of my footsteps, then scurried on. It ran along the edge of the opposite sidewalk for a distance of about a hundred feet before taking cover in some bushes. The rain was […]
Goose Lake. A dense fog, the cottonwoods dripping, the oaks, the cherries, the brambles, the berries. For the first time in a year we are able to walk to the water’s edge. This end of the lake is very shallow and full of decaying lilies, between which can be seen the mossy bottom just inches below. Quiet. Few birds are out, and none are chattering or calling from the immediate […]
It’s our very good fortune that every window of this house looks out on lush green growth: the maples, pine, and cedar; the birches and firs; the garden, vine, apricot, and blueberry; the juniper and the dense, tall arborvitae; the fig, the lilacs, the rhododendrons; the ferns, moss, grass, and volunteer oak and hazelnut seedlings; and in the distance, the trees of the neighborhood. Each view changes from hour to […]
Street by street, power is being restored. Last night at nine o’clock, it was thirty-five degrees. This morning at three-thirty, it was forty-five. Yesterday morning, we viewed the destruction around town. The ice storm has closed roads, brought down wires, felled mighty oaks, split cedars, ravaged birches, and crushed cars and rooftops with mossy limbs. In the afternoon, the roar of chainsaws filled the air. They will be running for […]
The iris bed is ready for winter. The sleepers are settling in, some with space between them, others in full embrace, with backs and shoulders turned to the soft fall sunlight. None, apparently, are concerned about the presence of the two tiny oak seedlings that sprouted earlier in the year, not even those that are two or three inches away. And anyway, that’s just a human measurement; irises and oaks […]
William Michaelian 