The morning was spent in the company of a roofer, in pursuit of a leak we noticed in time last night to prevent damage to our old upright piano. Luckily, only a little water landed on a paperback containing the poems of Ezra Pound, leaving the young Ezra with a gentle wave in his hair. Had the water reached the Jonathan Swift set from 1812 and 1813, I — but […]
If you lived nearby, I might let you borrow a book. Or, even better, you could stay and browse and read a while. You could sit or stand; you could kneel or crouch. You could wonder at the strange figure sitting at this desk. Is he real? That would be for you to decide, although I think the answer might vary from one moment to the next. Are you real? […]
It’s an interesting notion, that if something is rare, it should cost a great deal, and turn a large profit. And it’s just as interesting, that if something is free and readily available, it should be thought of as common, and not rare at all. How different the world would be if supply and demand were guided by love, kindness, compassion, and wisdom. . To one degree or another, we […]
Another farm trip, another apple variety: Rosalee, by way of Honeycrisp and Fuji. Read the sixty-third chapter of Middlemarch. Added two photographs, Maple Time and Eternal Breath, taken yesterday at Silver Falls State Park, to the bottom of these pages. October 20, 2023. . [ 1903 ]
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, […]
This fall, like the last, the pine is losing a large amount of its needles. Yet it remains green at the top and at the tips. It’s a gradual process; the needles turn yellow before they drop. This might well be some ordinary housekeeping, because the tree looked good all summer. I think I recall reading somewhere that pines hang onto their new needles for three or more years. Maybe […]
The Rambler, Numb. 12. Saturday, April 28, 1750. The entire column given over to a touching letter signed “Zosima,” detailing the ill treatment received by the writer, a thoughtful, well-to-do woman fallen on hard times, when seeking work as a maid. The letter ends with thanks to an unnamed gentle woman who treated her with kindness and generosity, though she no longer had a position to fill. . From Walt […]
How many hours a day are my feet in contact with a natural, earthen surface? How many hours are my eyes, my body, my mind, exposed to artificial light? What must it have been like for our primitive ancestors, for whom food was the only real physical necessity, and shelter and fire the greatest of conveniences? O, the things we take for granted, the things we want, the things we […]
Writing is one more way of living forever, like digging in the garden, making bread, and bathing a child. It’s a city lot, but if I walk the same narrow path through the yard to its every corner each and every day, my footsteps will form a scenic nature trail. Out, back, and around, in every direction and through all the seasons — who knows what I might see? We […]
Early this afternoon, someone’s grocery delivery was left on our doorstep. We called the store, the name of which was printed on the bags, and told them it wasn’t ours, but no one there knew anything about it, and we learned in the process that the store doesn’t make deliveries. We thought perhaps the food items were meant for our neighbors next door, and I was on my way to […]
William Michaelian 