Today I started removing our last big swath of ivy, which looked something like a green glacier flowing down from the wide, mounded base of the fir tree in the southeast corner of the backyard — the leafy “ice” being about two and a half feet deep and matted with summer spider webs, twigs, needles, and cones, twenty feet long, and six feet wide. When I’m done, there will be […]
Hot days and warm nights. But it’s all relative. We used to call these temperatures cool in the San Joaquin Valley. Still, one hundred is one hundred, and seventy is seventy — just as my name is what’s stated on my birth certificate, and on all of my other “important papers,” the electronic ones included. In other words, it is, and it isn’t. Or, to frame it as a question: […]
A slow run, the last sliver of moon just rising, the streets quiet and calm. With the arrival of the summer heat, our former high temperatures are now the lows, even as the days, little by little, grow shorter, and the cloudless, starry nights, as if by their own magic, add unto themselves. The grass in front of the house has yielded again to clover. The bare feet rejoice in […]
The grass behind the house is on the wild side. Shaded most of the day, it stays green if left alone. No mowing, no water. Churchyard grass. Perfect for imagined goats. Pick things up, then set them down again. Sticks, leaves, stones. Rainbows. Poems. The days and nights themselves. A swarm of bushtits in the cedar. Some are upside down. What’s the world to them? Outside in. Inside out. The […]
The grass seed farmers have started cutting their fields. The summer scent of drying grass is intense this morning, like childhood and death in one divine breath. The streets were so quiet during my run at four-thirty, it seemed the houses were all empty. I wonder how many times the world has ended today; I wonder how many times it will begin. While I was watering the hanging basket, the […]
Dragonfly season here is a show of grace; color; delicacy. The insects rise and pause and land with an ethereal weightlessness we don’t associate with the much larger dragonflies of our youth in California’s San Joaquin Valley, where they stood on air and rumbled about in our classrooms at school, entering and leaving freely through the open doors and unscreened windows. During the warm months, which seemed to last most […]
Because they are friends summer leaves the door open and night wanders in Recently Banned Literature, May 29, 2008 . [ 1212 ]
William Michaelian 