At Such an Early Hour
What does the robin sing to the moon? Farewell? Don’t go? I’m here? Soft clouds? Or does he sing to the moon at all? My Joy? My life? My love? . [ 1435 ]
Tag Archive for ‘Robins’
War Is Over
Two and a half miles and two owls. Robins and rain. Petals and pollen. Street, feet, sandal-squeak. And that was my run. My brother’s funeral has come and gone. It was in Edmonton. We were here at home. There was video provided the next day, despite a power outage during the service, which left the room dark. A side door had to be opened to admit some light. Admit the […]
Maybe This Is Why
One street over, there’s a light that’s crowded ’round by a flowering wild cherry. Running past, the stars still out, it looks like the light itself ’s in bloom. Maybe this is why the robins sing at such an early hour — and why, When my heart and lungs are full with scent and sound, My feet, at least for a little while, don’t quite touch the ground. . [ […]
As Every Dandelion Knows
Anger, irritation, frustration, impatience; negative thoughts, unkind thoughts; worry, anxiety, fear, a desire for control — each brings tension to the body. Not only does this cause discomfort, illness, and wear, it becomes part of one’s daily physical and verbal language, thus amounting to a kind of communicable disease. During my run yesterday morning and the morning before, I heard an owl each time I passed through the street just […]
Herald
Say it like this robin, singing in the dark — there is no tomorrow. . [ 1396 ]
War and Peace
A playful squirrel chases juncos, just to see them hop and scatter. A bright-red robin flashes by, makes the squirrel jump and run. A missile flies, a mother dies, a child cries — another day is done. . [ 1392 ]
Morning Tea
After sipping icy water spiced by moss-crowned leaves, the robin flies from the birdbath to the fence-top for a meeting with the squirrel. When they arrive, they find the sun already waiting at the spot. Welcome to my secret hideaway, says he. I’m surprised you found it. Then the clouds move, and the sun, the robin, and the squirrel disappear. And here we find the poet, not quite ready, in […]
A Letter to the Boys
Yesterday afternoon I cleared the driveway of snow with one of the old manure shovels my father and grandfather used on the farm during the Great Depression and after the Second World War, and which we continued to use in later years, and which now reside, along with several other tools from that earlier time, in an old barrel in the little shed behind the house. While I was out, […]
Winter Watch
The birds are out, the robins in pairs, their colors intense. They are like little day-lanterns that help me see the light. And now it is night, and the wind is high in the meadow. And the wind is why my body is a hut the trees know. Recently Banned Literature, December 19, 2017 . [ 1287 ]
Naming
The robin has left her nest. She was such a brave, patient little bird; likely it was her first attempt at motherhood. Her nest is a perfect work of art: a primitive weave, a deep and noble interpretation of dry grass and mud. It holds only one egg, dull, pale, almost transparent blue, beautiful even in its infertility. The extreme heat, the neighbor’s fireworks — it must have been difficult […]
William Michaelian 