What they suffered, they suffered together. Material wealth was never their concern, their poverty being the inherited kind. Yet kindness is their inheritance. It’s been said that they died the same day, within hours of each other, their shared dream having run its course. There were children, one of whom, we are told, made these sketches of her parents when they were both very old, using a piece of charcoal […]
Allow the miracle — not just the small one you desire or imagine, but the universal one that brought you here to wonder at the stars, and which reveals itself in spontaneous, infinitely wise order. Why seek wealth, or an end to your private suffering, when you are already the entire cosmos? . If it takes effort to smile, work at it a little harder. Let a little light into […]
The harvest is rich, that we may be the kinder. Read The Rambler, Numb. 1. Tuesday, March 20, 1750, by Samuel Johnson. Received as a Christmas gift from “The Children” in 2015: The Rambler. In Four Volumes. The Tenth Edition. London: Printed for S. Strahan, J. Rivington and Sons, B. Collins, T. Longman, B. Law, C. Dilly, T. Carnan, J. Robson, G. Robinson, T. Lowndes, T. Cadell, W. Cater, H. […]
Sky is my window, earth is my door. Come and be with me, come and be poor. Grass is my pillow, breeze is my song. Sit here beside me, until you move on. Sky is my window, earth is my door. Come and be with me, come and be poor. If you can love me, I’ll love you the more. And if you can love me, I’ll love you the […]
Men seek wisdom, sunflower sprouts spring from the warming soil. * Rich or poor, for your own sake, ask yourself what you would do if money weren’t a concern. * Love is the sound the shovel makes. * Birch clock: the dead branch, the singing bird. * Cedar clock: the low branch, the rope swing. * Old or young, ask yourself what you would do if time weren’t a concern. […]
Age? Health? Good fortune? Whatever the reason, I’ve come to see life this way: there’s no greater wealth than this moment, this breath, and this body. In that light, there can be only one goal, one challenge, one mission worth pursuing: to make what remains of it an act of giving, while wishing absolutely nothing for myself. Call it impossible. Call it a prayer. And though I may forget, or […]
the sweet call to rest / the bare lilac / the mossy wall / the cedar chest December 23, 2021 . O Holy Night I do love the short days, the early closing in of the dark, the long nights beginning in the afternoon, the afternoons even earlier on the rooftops through the firs. There is so much light in everything everywhere I turn, in objects, faces, and books, the […]
A little before four this morning, it was cloudy with only one star briefly visible; then, a few minutes later, between the birches and firs, through a break in the clouds just above the neighbor’s second-story roof, we caught a sustained glimpse of the full lunar eclipse, as the shadow passed and the moon began to emerge. Now there is a robin singing from the chimney-top. It comes to mind […]
Our family library contains more than books. It contains cousins, uncles, and a wealth of secret, sacred knowledge which would be comical to some, useless to most, and inspiring, if not dangerous, to eager, impressionable young minds. For it was this knowledge, embodied in these living examples, that made me want to be a writer long before I knew the real meaning of the word. Dangerous? Oh, yes, when one […]
This afternoon I swept the walk, the driveway, and the moss-covered patio area behind the house, which was buried in dry, frosted birch leaves. Then I ate two dates, two prunes, a piece of dried mango, and a fresh ripe persimmon. Lately I have had to delete several telephone messages, in which were the recorded voices of people telling us in ignorant, angry tones how we should vote. One man […]
William Michaelian 