The tulips are several weeks behind. All over the neighborhood, the plants are distorted, and seem to be twisting themselves up out of the ground. They remind me of Van Gogh’s cypresses. Even now with the weather warming slightly, we’ve yet to see a single open bloom. The cherries, though, are finally at their peak and are beginning to snow. Here and there, resting under the trees facing the State […]
Early April, and we’re still flirting with snow. A couple of days ago, we had two brief hailstorms, the latter of which turned the ground white and bowed some daffodils to the ground, while others, in their white shoes and yellow shawls, stood tall and seemed ready to march up the hill. How strange that would have been. But they stayed where they were, encouraging the others to stand. . […]
A few nights ago, after we’d been on our walk by the river, I had a strange little dream. A few feet away, in a small grassy area greening its way into spring, there was a blue-gray owl looking up at me with a friendly, cheerful expression. It had very large bright-green eyes. Though it was obviously an adult, it was smaller than any owl I’ve seen. When I moved […]
A cold, wet spring. Tulips several weeks behind. Are they snowflakes or cherry blossoms? I’ll let the robins decide. . [ 1705 ]
I burn with the forests. And when I emerge in spring, I’m listening. . [ 1591 ]
When the river’s low and seems lazy and unconcerned, Memory’s a winding path through the old cottonwoods on the floodplain. Come back in spring. Be here for the reckoning. . [ 1564 ]
There’s a young robin building a nest on top of a light fixture under the eaves next to the little door that leads from the garage into the backyard. She worked at it Sunday for about eleven hours, having great difficulty at first due to the slippery metal, but by evening she’d managed to form what looked like a relatively secure base. Fluffy and determined, she resumed work yesterday morning […]
Love, our little garden is in — in the ground, in the rain, in the wind. Canvas 1,260 May 6, 2022 . [ 1456 ]
You ask what happens when we die, I say the weather’s fine and the soil’s warming nicely. You ask how to make good garden compost, I say yes, that’s it exactly. What’s it? you want to know. I say the dirt between your toes, the ever changing clouds. You say you hate to leave it all behind. I say try this shovel, it’s the one my father used. . [ […]
William Michaelian 