Breath
flowering plum this crooked path becomes you March 5, 2021 . [ 1038 ]
Tag Archive for ‘Walking’
Copper In Your Palm
He had a perfect way of saying the desert had been crossed: Where water needs the flowers, we’re no longer lost. And there we laid him; and here grows the moss. “Where Water Needs the Flowers” Recently Banned Literature, April 11, 2014 . Copper In Your Palm Air so heavy with pollen and perfume, you wear it home. Comb it into the bathroom sink. Some settles on the lacy fern. […]
Melting
. . . after the storm / birds on fallen limbs / as if they have always been / here . . . February 18, 2021 . [ 1025 ]
Hyacinths and Biscuits
Of the many wonderful things written and said by Carl Sandburg, there is one that often springs to mind which never goes out of fashion: Poetry is the synthesis of hyacinths and biscuits. Starlings are sunshine birds. They know how the light plays on their feathers. A layer of snow and ice: first at the feeder this morning were the juncos. A walk before sunrise, every step accompanied by a […]
Making Us Round
Yesterday evening after dark, we had the universe to ourselves. So it seemed, so it felt, out walking under the clouds and stars, knowing full well that the clouds and stars were under us as well, making us as round as this dear round globe. Above us, though, in the swath that was visible to our bare naked eyes, were majestic rivers — rivers of illuminated clouds in galactic strands; […]
Joy
Walking in the direction of low racing clouds lit by the city, I keep pace long enough to take flight — too weightless to be wrong, too dizzy to be right. February 5, 2021 . [ 1011 ]
Tea and Oranges
Fennel seed tea with just a bit of blackberry honey: a timely cure for all the physical and mental ailments of which I remain unaware. On the path beyond Goose Lake, we came to a place where a tree was down, blocking our way. Just inside the network of slender bare branches, there were two brown rabbits. They kept their eyes on us as we made the long way around. […]
Mountain Madman
While walking early this morning I remembered that John Muir once wrote about how the giant conifers in the high mountains of California rejoiced in storms. He knew, because he was out among them when the primitive, savage breath raged upon the peaks, across the waters, and through the meadows, glens, and canyons. His words were a lesson — as resistance would have been far more destructive to these great […]
Almost
While walking yesterday evening, I almost heard an owl, its voice coming to me through the dark at regular intervals. It was a strange and beautiful thing, this almost hearing. It was like almost thinking, almost dreaming, almost being. But to the owl, maybe it was not so strange. Maybe he was playing. December 15, 2020 . [ 958 ]
Spirit Ducks
It’s rare anymore that I use the word my — my writing, my poems, my books, my furniture, my house, my friends, my wife, my love, my life, my time. Only when it’s necessary for the sake of clarity and meaning, or to properly assume responsibility, does the word seem justified — as in, This is my perception, or, This is my experience, or, This is my mess. Otherwise, the […]
William Michaelian 