Ah, for those precious moments alone, with every dream, every hope, and each imagined failing. As if for the first time, you see your house on the edge of the moor, suppertime done, the dim lamps burning; it’s almost on a hill. You close your eyes, and hug the gnarled trunk: your father, the wind in his hair. How young he once was! How old he is now! And your […]
I still rise around four in the morning, and I still enjoy a sip before dawn. And the time itself is one of stillness, and solitude. It’s not a big cup, but the coffee is black and strong, the way I knew I’d love it even in my childhood, long before I’d tasted of the miraculous bean. The cedar is now large enough to walk under, instead of having to […]
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 […]
Yesterday we saw a solitary hiker with thin, long, gray hair, leaning with his right palm against the trunk of a mossy old maple, and the maple pushing back, ever so gently, to the quiet music of the stream below. Now, you and I both know, how he was and wasn’t there, and how he is and always will be; that if by gracious chance we pass that way again, […]
I’ll be old today — love what I love most — ferns, moss, stone — come hither, friend, and be alone. . [ 1821 ]
August, owl, moon. Light, fall, soon. Fall lightly, call brightly. August, owl, moon. Call lightly, fall brightly. August, owl, moon. . [ 1812 ]
It’s indicative of character, I think, that beyond my immediate family, my dearest, closest friends are people I’m unlikely ever to meet in the flesh, and who live hundreds or thousands of miles away. It’s also indicative of the times, for without social media, email, and online publishing, chances are great that our paths would never have crossed. As it is, the number is still small. I have many acquaintances, […]
Sometimes, sitting in the warm fall sun, I feel I’m waiting for my wings to dry. . [ 1568 ]
Hands wrapp’d ’round a warm cup — faceless night, nameless fire. . [ 1533 ]
I don’t warm up before running. Where the street meets the bottom of our short driveway, I simply start in — slowly at first, and then, within the space of a few houses, I begin to pick up speed. From there on my speed varies. My stride is never large. My feet are always under my body, not ahead. My speed is increased by quickening my steps, and by taking […]
William Michaelian 