Sun Dial
Left foot, right foot . . . home from a walk, the quiet of a power outage. ~ [ 2093 ]
Tag Archive for ‘Sun’
Long Shadows
During a brisk walk by the river yesterday morning, we saw two vacant, rugged osprey nests — one in a tall, dead cottonwood tree, the other in a sparse, narrow fir. Both will likely be in use again this spring and summer. We did hear an osprey calling out from over the water, but we didn’t catch sight of it. There are hints of spring in the landscape, though the […]
Robins and Bluebells
warm winter sun robins and bluebells man and his shadow looking down ~ [ 2052 ]
Peace, Flight, Breath
We make our music, and play our way to dusk; when the mists gather, we seek the warm glow of the hearth. Late at night, one by one, the coals close their eyes. The train flies west. We hear it through our open window. No sleep. Only peace, flight, breath. Grandpa said he’d be right back. He was talking about the sun, I guess. ~ [ 2004 ]
Buried Alive
Very well, then — if I am an underground man, the least I can do is be frank and open about it. Seven years after writing Window Thoughts, I find myself much changed on the surface: less hair, grayer hair, a longer, grayer beard, and more wrinkles, especially on my age-spotted forehead, with a deepening crease plunging downward towards my nose past my left eyebrow. At the same time, I […]
Rip Van Winkle
Back to the falls. The sun was shining in the hills above the fog. The maples in the canyon are glowing yellow. The trees still have most of their leaves, and are releasing them one by one like butterflies. Few hikers were out, most of them in their sixties and seventies. On the path below North Falls, one man we met looked at my beard and said with a smile, […]
Chores, Secrets, Memory
A quiet, meditative morning, passed mostly tending to household chores. Afternoon. A walk in the sun. On his hands and knees, the almost-eighty-seven-year-old woodcutter was pulling his neighbor’s weeds. . The Rambler, Numb. 14. Tuesday, May 1, 1750. Secrets — to tell, or not to tell. The rules therefore that I shall propose concerning secrecy, and from which I think it not safe to deviate, without long and exact deliberation, […]
Mystics or Madmen
Well, I’ll put them somewhere. Then I’ll move about among them, admire them as I pass, and take them every now and then from their shelf or stack. I’ll read a few lines at random; I’ll marvel at how they’re made, and feel their weight in my hands. For now, though, they’re still on my desk. Melville, as it turns out, is rather perfumey — something I didn’t notice at […]
Kind or Wise
We share the sun, the moon, the stars, the grief, the joy, the wars; is it any wonder, is it kind or wise, to pray for less and beg for more? . [ 1795 ]
William Michaelian 