Above North Falls
Thirty-three degrees. Cold toes. Above North Falls January 20, 2023 . [ 1677 ]
Tag Archive for ‘Photographs’
For the Children
Blue stars, yellow stars. Chicory in bloom.Every inch a mile. A galaxy too.This old earth knows what to do. Do you? August 20, 2022 . [ 1526 ]
Where the Water Begins
Cooler weather, fresher air, and a southwest breeze.Two pictures from this morning’s stroll. Mission Lake Goose Lake In the foreground, wapato. Under the low branch, lilies.That’s where the water begins. August 19, 2022 . [ 1525 ]
Death Valley
When I came in from running in the rain and wind, the house knew exactly where I’d been. Why didn’t you take me? it said. I looked around the room — the books, the desk, the paintings, the photographs, the antique odds and ends. You’re right, I said. It’s like a desert in here. Death Valley. And the walls closed in, with all their strange perfume. They held me close, […]
Juniper, Maple, Arborvitae
I walked barefoot in the snow this morning.Not far — thirty feet or so, to see what it was like.I was surprised at how soft and warm it was. December 26, 2021. Afternoon. Juniper, Maple, Arborvitae December 26, 2021 . [ 1332 ]
Reflections
Thirty-six degrees. After so many inches of rain, Goose Lake has risen and expanded by hundreds of feet all around. We have never seen it this full, or as heavily populated by ducks. The road that leads deeper into the park is submerged far and wide beneath swiftly moving water, part of the river having returned to its old channel — the area by the old black cottonwood that has […]
Soft Landing
Forty-seven degrees. Across the street, the big bare tree behind the neighbor’s house is full of starlings, so many it sounds like spring. Earlier, from the front window, I saw a squirrel jump from the edge of the roof into the cedar. Such a leap would not have been possible a year ago — the tree has grown that much. In that spirit, I am making a small leap myself. […]
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 […]
William Michaelian 