William Michaelian

Poems, Notes, and Drawings

Tag Archive for ‘Walking’

For Further Study

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 […]

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Living Forever

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 […]

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Hardly a Strict Quotation

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 […]

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Part and Apart

Upon returning from her early-morning walk, she said, “A raccoon, as big as a small bear.” . Rushing water, fluid sand, where the stream meets the sea. For an instant, there are two of me. But to keep my balance as I cross, I must mind my feet. . Potted the coleus cuttings. . Read chapters twenty-eight and twenty-nine of Middlemarch. . . . It is an uneasy lot at […]

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Ocean, Ocean

Fall. The honey thickens. Visited the beach at Neskowin. Sunny, a light breeze from the north, temperature around sixty degrees. No sand fleas. The tide was coming in, but it wasn’t so high that we couldn’t see that since our barefoot stroll there two years ago, the ghost forest has been mostly covered with sand. Only the top of one of the heavily barnacled stumps was visible. The western-most part […]

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How Can I Refuse?

Late strawberries — almost ripe — the squirrels get them before we do. A cloudy morning, no dew: raked and mowed the front and back grassy areas. Birch leaves. Fir cones. Pine needles. Mushrooms. Took a walk through the neighborhood, reversing the direction of this morning’s run. This time, down the hill. Saw a man swabbing some kind of sealant on the sidewalk and driveway he had replaced two or […]

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Jewels Wearing Clover Leaves

It’s not that nature answers all questions and problems, though it seems she does. It’s that she disposes of those not really worth asking or solving, and returns us, at least for a time, to a state of harmony with our most basic needs, and an understanding of how we’re connected to each other and all things. If you live in a city, even a single flower or plant near […]

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Sweet Asylum

Dripping maples, full birdbaths, flowers bowing their heads. Since yesterday morning, the temperature hasn’t gone up or down more than two degrees. We leave the house open. Last night, we could hear the crickets. Rain or no rain, now is their time. Thoreau’s journal, February 1854. One day, he followed the tracks of a fox in the snow over a mile. No phone, no map, no app. Strolling vs. scrolling. […]

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