More than anything, it seems I write in terms of surprise — that yesterday was not my last chance, or this morning, or an hour ago — that I am here at all — that I am still here, that I ever was here, without really knowing what here is, or why, or how. And it might well be that this condition, this outlook — this disease if you prefer […]
Noted on the next-to-last day of January, early in the evening after dark: the first spring chorus of frogs, rising from the rain-replenished Claggett Creek wetland. The next morning, a very strong southerly flow, upon it riding the deeper-further-farther river smell — and the welling sense of something else: the awakening multitude. Blooming by the wayside near the graveyard something someone softly said January 31, 2020 [ 652 ]
As long as this body is in the world, and as long as it remains lit from within, the urge, the desire, the need, is to tell all — the instinct, the drive, the purpose, the dream. I am my own living and breathing confession, and by this confession, my life is fulfilled. I walked very early this morning on streets shimmering with particles of ice. The sky was almost […]
What of someone who is happy and joyful, but unable to communicate, while those around him assume he is miserable and sad? And what of those who are miserable and sad, who assume everyone else is? Early morning the day after Christmas — not one soul out to see the frosty rooftops. I saw, or think I saw, an eagle in the neighbor’s fir tree the other day. But it […]
It occurred to me recently that I walked more than a thousand miles in the immediate neighborhood during the past year, and several hundred more on state park trails — in terms of sheer distance, roughly halfway across the continent. This is hardly a profound realization. But though it was made in small increments, the journey itself was far from mundane. And a journey it remains. Another year and I […]
The owl doesn’t ask who, it knows who — and tells. Late night, last night, streetlight, treetop, shadows — bells. Low tide, bedside, heart wide, eyes closed — knells. December 21, 2019 [ 611 ]
Walking the downtown streets on a winter afternoon, every brick familiar, Smiling to myself at the sheer number of doors I’ve tried and shops I’ve entered, At each set of stairs leading up from the sidewalk to sundry offices and rooms, And at the strange wealth of memories that come unbidden, The nerves, the tension, the fear (all of it precious and love always near), The glory of press time, […]
Was it the childhood study of bird tracks that first led him to writing, Or the sacred marks his mother made in her crusts and loaves? And then there was the night sky, with its patient verse of constellations. It might have been those. Whatever it meant to be alone . . . He loved it well and tried to write just like them. Then it snowed . . . […]
Out from a room heavy with light and oppressive with talk and laughter, into the sweet chocolate night, the wood smoke, and fog — and no one knows me when I return; but my body is familiar to them, my hat and my hair — they recognize my clothes and are satisfied. Maybe that’s all I was to them before? A ghost, a mirror, nothing more? [ 582 ]
A clear sky, frost, stars, and a waning moon. While walking this morning it occurred to me again that this body of mine is the world; and that what I notice, and my particular way of noticing it, reflects what is taking place in me on a cellular-spiritual level. The unforgiving concrete and asphalt, the falling leaves, the ripening fruit, the winding paths, the downed trees, and shimmering waterfalls — […]
William Michaelian 