Tuesday, January 31, 2012

Visitors


The front door of my childhood home — someone has left it standing open. Two cats, the small reclusive calico that lives with us now and a soft-white stranger with brownish face and paws, are inside playing. When they see me, they dash out. I follow them and close the door. To the east beyond the yard, a morning view of the High Sierra. I think of a painter in love with blue, long since buried in the snow. I remember what a lover knows and is so eager to begin — the taste of one bright apple, and footprints where no one else has been.


7 comments:

temporal rooms said...

where you take us in your morning view, through time and love, the colour of death and where others have not traveled is such a view William.

~robert

William Michaelian said...

Thank you, Robert. Like you, I marvel that the concrete reality of this world is also a dream, a vapor we can run our hands through. You’ve been expressing that so well in your photographs lately.

temporal rooms said...

thank you William.

Peter Greene said...

very lovely, William...I seem to have been missing the odd thing here. I have too much in my stupid Reader and can't figure out how to remove anything! Good to see your words as always.

William Michaelian said...

Thanks, Peter. And it’s always good to hear from you.

Geckostone said...

This is um...dreamy, really nice. Puts a lump in my throat and tear in my eye as your writings usually do... I like starting my day this way!Deb

William Michaelian said...

I’m glad, Deb. Thanks. Take one dream and call me in the morning....