Illumined
Your precious light — how else can I see what I’ve written? ~ [ 2101 ]
Tag Archive for ‘Reading’
Long Shadows
During a brisk walk by the river yesterday morning, we saw two vacant, rugged osprey nests — one in a tall, dead cottonwood tree, the other in a sparse, narrow fir. Both will likely be in use again this spring and summer. We did hear an osprey calling out from over the water, but we didn’t catch sight of it. There are hints of spring in the landscape, though the […]
Unto Peace
Owing to morning temperatures in the low-twenties, the birdbaths have seized up again. The air, meanwhile, is very dry, the streets are dry, and every bush and twig. Saturday afternoon, I was able to climb onto the roof with our electric blower and hundred-foot extension cord, and blow off all of the debris left behind by the fall storms. The fir needles were deep; the cones were plentiful; and there […]
Yesterday Afternoon
Life’s too precious to spend it in the dread cycle of acquisition and protecting what we own. Still, our societies are based on this, and our nations set to war. The misunderstanding is simple: we’re not what we own. Nothing can be added, and nothing taken away, from a universal song. Yesterday Afternoon Laughing in the dentist’s chair The doctor and his assistant singing His wife reads vampire novels […]
Around the Block, Around the Books
A clear, chilly morning of thirty degrees. Out under the stars, I ran for the forty-second consecutive day, making six weeks of barefoot sandal running. I saw no one, and was met by only one car, which was driven by one of this country’s many thousands of “independent contractors” delivering packages. I’m about halfway through Melville’s Typee, the narrator of which has come to question who is truly civilized — […]
A Human Toad
It’s much less what I’m reading, than the simple fact that I am reading, that I find remarkable. More than remarkable: holding a book in my hands, turning the pages, and making sense of what’s printed on those pages, is a miracle. How the books I read find their way to me, and come to a temporarily safe harbor within these walls, is a mystery. Though it appears that I’m […]
To Ant, or Not to Ant
On the last day of the year, in a used bookstore we visit every so often in West Salem, I chanced upon an unread copy of a Library of America edition containing three works by Herman Melville, all having to do with the sea: Typee; Omoo; and Mardi. Priced at only eight dollars and fifty cents, the book was still in its original white slipcase, and its ribbon marker had […]
Lost Art
This morning, half an hour before sunrise, I heard two mourning doves: one across the street, calling from the neighbor’s fir tree; the other on the street south of ours, from the dense pine in front of a house sold a year or two ago by the elderly couple who used to live there. Early morning. Birds. Trees. And so the note I wrote August 1, 2018, already has that […]
Oranges
This poem was written fifteen years after my father’s death. He was a good reader, and remembered what he read, but as an adult he wasn’t a reader of many books; certainly not of poems. Like so many of his generation, he read the daily newspaper from front to back. And like my mother, he encouraged his three children to read, and expected us to do well in school, which, […]
Imaginative Reading
My reading life began early in childhood, with countless visits to our hometown library, the same library my mother frequented when she was growing up. I have no idea how many books I’ve read. I know others who have read more than I have, and who read more than I do, and who are better readers in terms of how much they can recall, and how well they can analyze […]
William Michaelian 