As noted then in these pages, my brother, Kirk, died two years ago today — an interval which seems much more like one expansive, all-encompassing breath. I see, meanwhile, that it’s been almost a month since I last wrote. During that time, I’ve felt neither the urge nor the need. And I don’t feel it now. What I do feel is the arrival of spring. Why, then, am I writing? […]
The blueberry and apricot are almost bare, their leafy colors beneath them. The grape is a mass of brush I’ve already pruned in my mind. The fig is yellow, with many leaves yet to fall — too late for Adam, too late for Eve. The ground is yellow too. I cut down the dahlias; we’ll be digging and storing them soon. The pine has shed almost all its yellowed needles, […]
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 […]
This fall, like the last, the pine is losing a large amount of its needles. Yet it remains green at the top and at the tips. It’s a gradual process; the needles turn yellow before they drop. This might well be some ordinary housekeeping, because the tree looked good all summer. I think I recall reading somewhere that pines hang onto their new needles for three or more years. Maybe […]
Fifty-eight degrees. A light, steady rain. Smoke. A four o’clock run. I don’t care to be in a room full of noisy people. A room full of quiet people, I can appreciate and enjoy. People are at their best when they’re quiet. I can move about among them as I move about among rocks and trees, loving them softly, without needing, seeking, or expecting love in return. But I love […]
Little bright lights twinkling in the pine — why on earth would I call them birds? . [ 1809 ]
Late yesterday evening a very active thunderstorm passed through this part of the valley, moving northwest from the Cascades, bringing with it a spectacular display of lightning and enough thunder to wake the dead. And yet somehow, I fell asleep before it was over — but not before I heard the music of heavy rain landing on the roof and on the plants outside. That, and being generally exhausted from […]
When I turned on the front step light at 4:30 this morning, the skunk seemed only mildly surprised. It wasn’t on the step, just a few feet beyond. It sniffed the air and peered at me through its thick glasses, then moved off into the darkness, toward the pine. Careful alert regard, mutual curiosity — I’ve known friendships to begin this way. Another way is the wondrous miracle of instant […]
We met a wee toddler with his parents on the canyon trail this morning. This afternoon, I saw the junco father with his recently hatched little ones. They were finding things to eat in the shade garden. The father flew up to the pine, landed on a branch just above me, and ticked a bit — it was just like old times. honey high on the mountain low in the […]
She bends when the wind blows, is still when it’s calm. I stand by the window, an indoor pine. December 10, 2021 . Do You See? Do you see that sapling tested by the wind? And its family and forebears around her, sublime and sturdy as can be? And now, do you see yourself, and the strength, and the beauty, in vulnerability? Recently Banned Literature, February 2, 2017 . [ […]
William Michaelian 