Narrow Path
Washed away at our meeting — in the waterfall, none of us have names. . [ 1810 ]
Tag Archive for ‘Water’
Pools, Mirrors, Circles
Up and down, over rocks, our feet are covered with dust. Here’s a raven. A flower. Moss. Miles we walk. Down to the stream, out to the middle on high, dry stone. Pools, mirrors, circles, nothing square, no edges. To wash our feet here is to bathe them in infinite space. At home, we carry water to the blueberry and mint. Infinite grace. . [ 1803 ]
True Blue
We threw our words overboard, only to find that they’d become anchors, and that our ship wouldn’t move; then they became fish: we cast a great net: around it they swam, and through; they leap’d to the heavens, were shimmering stars in the blue; then one by one they fell; they’re falling still; and each that lands is true. . [ 1801 ]
Easy
Drinking from the birdbath, washing face and hands, a pretty little wasp teaches me. . [ 1798 ]
Flower, River, Plum
Of course you’re the center of the universe. You’re also a flower. A river. A plum. Bright in her hair. Adrift on the water. Secure in her fingers. Warm in her palm. What else to declare? It’s the same the other way around. . [ 1789 ]
Rushing Water
A breeze passing through cottonwoods sounds like rushing water, but rushing water doesn’t sound like a breeze passing through cottonwoods; rushing water sounds like rushing water, rushing water rushing water rushing rushing water . [ 1774 ]
A Splash and a Wish
No one taught my father to swim. He jumped into the ditch and started paddling. A depression, a lifetime, a war, a family later, he climbed out of the water and waved from the bank on the other side. He waved and he waved, and faded to shade, in the flesh with the fish, a splash and a wish, a breeze, the sky, a door. And then we couldn’t see […]
Bells and Stars
Were I to name the wildflowers, they would go on being wild, and I would become a little less so. Along the rim trail, and deep in the north end of the dustless, green canyon, is an abundance of delicate flowers, poised on tender stems, calling out to the bees and butterflies in scented voices and soft hues. Some look like tiny stars; some have large petals; some hold up […]
The Fine Points
I can make a tasty six-ounce cup of coffee using our small, fifty-year-old, fine-meshed strainer by holding it over the cup and very slowly pouring hot water over the grounds. It’s a two-step process. First, I drip enough water over the grounds to saturate them, and let them bloom for about half a minute. Then I pour the rest of the water. It might also work with a ten- or […]
William Michaelian 