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 […]
Childish notes — some things never change. And some things, are not things, at all. Summer in the vineyard, a small boy sitting under a vine, hidden by all the other vines. Thinking of it still, of the stillness, still that still, nigh sixty-eight years old, in full. One breath in all — one moment, one grand revelation, one sensation, of being. Alive, blue jeans to the ground, the same […]
Not once has the earth lied to us, or deserted us, yet see how we treat her. Hummingbird, bluebird, mourning dove, crow. Wise, the still mountain. Where else to go? What else to know? . [ 1747 ]
So perfect, so still — did you die, little bird, or were you cured by the cold? . [ 1636 ]
William Michaelian 