Fourteen weeks of daily early-morning running: suddenly it sounds ridiculous — about as ridiculous as publishing daily blog entries — as if I really have that much to say, or there’s that much that truly needs to be said, and which might not be better and more fully expressed by silence — or by walking across the street and shaking my neighbor’s hand for no special reason, other than the […]
A great cry at the bottom of the hill. An owl: Are you here still? And up I go, knowing full well An answer would prove nothing at all. ~ [ 2040 ]
If our yard weren’t overwhelmed by the neighbor’s fir trees, and used as a playground for squirrels, raccoons, skunks, opossums, and owls, I wouldn’t mind at all having goats and chickens again. But this is not to be. We do have ants, though, which invade the house each winter; we have flickers and crows, juncos, sparrows, scrub-jays, finches, towhees, robins, wrens, and red-tailed hawks; and only a few days ago, […]
When I grow up, I’ll be a responsible essayist. I’ll solve the world’s problems, one by one. Then I’ll invent new ones. I’ll also sell subscriptions. Until then, I’ll be an irresponsible poet and doodler. I’ll be a dooet and poetler. I’ll also sell inflictions. When everyone’s well, I’ll say they’re ill. And when they’re ill, I’ll say I welled them. I’ll have blog security. I’ll be avoided from miles […]
August, owl, moon. Light, fall, soon. Fall lightly, call brightly. August, owl, moon. Call lightly, fall brightly. August, owl, moon. . [ 1812 ]
I’ve known a few cool cats, but most have been loaves of bread, purrers and posers, a few owls among them, nightstalkers, softwalkers, streetlight ramblers, and poets like Kerouac, nine lives or one, not knowing which they’re on, fenceposts, railcars, food dishes, wine bottles, tambourines, or bongo drums — like, meow, man, and they still carry on. . [ 1759 ]
A few nights ago, after we’d been on our walk by the river, I had a strange little dream. A few feet away, in a small grassy area greening its way into spring, there was a blue-gray owl looking up at me with a friendly, cheerful expression. It had very large bright-green eyes. Though it was obviously an adult, it was smaller than any owl I’ve seen. When I moved […]
An owl calling, a star falling, and night, the solemn magician. . [ 1542 ]
If I don’t fully understand the question, then what good will my answer be? Yet I think I understand, and answer with confidence, even when I’m as wrong as a chunk of wood in a fancy cocktail, or a rusty cucumber in a bag of nails. Even worse, I believe myself, and make an art of my haste and ignorance. Many times over the years, I’ve read, and heard it […]
William Michaelian 