I didn’t turn on the computer this morning until seven-thirty, after I’d been up for three and a half hours. I exercised, I ran, I sipped my six-ounce cup of pour-over coffee; I ate breakfast; I sat, not thinking or doing anything at all. I took a shower, dried myself, and rubbed some olive oil on my heels. Only then, after making a cup of chamomile tea, did I open […]
The body as teacher. The body as friend. The body as substance. The body as dream. The body as sailor. The body as ship. The body as sea. The body as troubadour. The body as flute. The body as song. The body as ash. The body as wind. The body as tree. . Back from an early-morning run in a very warm, dense rain. . Thoreau’s journal, March 9, 1854. […]
The mail was late yesterday, but among the usual junk was a package containing two books from the Library of America — one being the volume by Henry James mentioned recently, Collected Travel Writings: The Continent; the other a collection of early work by Gertrude Stein, Writings: 1903-1932. And so the stacks grow a little higher and a little deeper. . I slept remarkably well last night, and woke up […]
The sunflowers aren’t quite to the skeletal stage, but with the frost upon them, their flesh is rapidly melting away. The birds still come, the scrub jays, nuthatches, and finches. It’s a talkative town, but in stark, fleet moments there’s a blackening sense of the approaching end of conversation, and of new beginnings that must wait their turn in the ground. . If I’m discovered to be mad, what of […]
Ninety-seven percent humidity, the stars dim through the smoky, post-apocalyptic haze. The body says wait. . I ran this morning two hours later than usual, after eating, instead of before. Much to my surprise, the world didn’t end. Then again, it might already have ended, and my run might have been a dream. Dreaming after the world ends — yes, maybe that’s what living is really about. Oats, spelt, barley, […]
Running in the storm when the trees are rocking and reeling brings as good a feeling as when the weather is balmy and calm. But I’m aware that part of that feeling is derived from knowing I have a safe, warm house to return to. I also know that it might not always be safe and warm, just as I know that I won’t always be here, whatever may come. […]
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 […]
I raised the toilet lid this morning and found a spider treading water. Apparently it had just fallen in. I rolled up a small piece of paper, which it quickly climbed onto, took it outside, and let it climb off onto our front step. It wasn’t too large — maybe half an inch across, including its legs. It probably rode into the house on my hair, as I run into […]
Late strawberries — almost ripe — the squirrels get them before we do. A cloudy morning, no dew: raked and mowed the front and back grassy areas. Birch leaves. Fir cones. Pine needles. Mushrooms. Took a walk through the neighborhood, reversing the direction of this morning’s run. This time, down the hill. Saw a man swabbing some kind of sealant on the sidewalk and driveway he had replaced two or […]
A warm, still night, with smoke enough to twitch the nose and rile the passages — but by four this morning, the atmosphere had lightened considerably, and the air was clear enough to go out for a run. At present, it feels like there’s more smoke inside the house than out. I saw no one save two cats, one black with a bell — a bell-black inky tinkler — one […]
William Michaelian 