Monday morning. As colder weather is expected later in the week, we’ve begun the process of bringing in our plants for the winter. The Norfolk Island Pine is in, as are the two lacy asparagus ferns, both of which are in the full flush of new growth, which they put forth every year at this time; and yesterday, we moved the big philodendron — this time around, we were barely […]
Wildflowers, nasturtiums, tomatoes, peppers, cucumbers, corn, okra, string beans, sunflowers, purslane, crab grass and everything else that wants to grow — this year’s garden will be interesting, especially since I’ve scattered seeds in places I’ve already forgotten in this sudden transition to sunny skies, bare arms, and warm feet. Under these enlightened conditions, spending the afternoon working outside is much like losing my mind, or would be, if I still […]
Fifty-eight degrees. Standing shirtless on the grass at dawn under a steady rain, face to the sky, I was surprised at how warm I felt. Twenty minutes later, inside, while finishing my shower with the water turned completely to cold, I was surprised again by how much colder the water was coming from the city well and up through the pipes that run under the house. What, in degrees, is […]
Silent, motionless, unblinking: after four years, robins have built another nest in the fig tree. I don’t know how many times I’ve passed under it without knowing it was there; several today; and recently when the heat was at its peak, I moved several potted plants into the shade, very near where the mother is patiently sitting. An ocean breeze has cooled the valley. Yesterday the temperature fell to eighty-seven […]
One hundred thirteen degrees. Yesterday afternoon, in the grass behind the house, we set a little sprinkler for the birds. It made a shallow lake in the shade. And out they came from the bushes, and down from the trees, children of the leaves. The tomatoes and peppers did not mind the heat. We protected the cucumbers with a sheet. We will again today. At four this morning it was […]
Five in the morning. Seventy degrees. A light dew. Is there a way to separate memory from smell? It seems one is dry grass, and the other is ripening fruit. Shall we ask the toes? Is there anything they do not know? Early morning watering. The humans are expecting temperatures today as high as one hundred seven degrees. The plants, though, show no sign of concern. Which should we believe? […]
A clear, quiet dawn. Forty-nine degrees. Barefoot on the dew-soaked grass. If a church is a sacred place, so is a hospital, so is a barn, so is a kitchen or playground. Everything is sacred or nothing is, yet most people think they can pick and choose. They think they know. They think they can perceive a difference. They see as divided a world that is whole. Tiny peppers. Tiny […]
William Michaelian 