Tuesday, May 16, 2017

Irises and dreams

The tomato plants are growing like weeds in the rain. This morning I walked in a dense, heavy mist. The robins were out. Some starlings. A towhee. Silence emanated from coy-hidden crows. Crow silence. Black-ink silence. The atmosphere, it seemed, was deep into the process of paper-making. A calligrapher’s dream. A mark here, a mark there, and thus a new language is born, and is off to test its new wings. Redwoods make fine brushes, don’t you think? And irises? And dreams?


Jonathan Chant said...

Thanks William, I much prefer your words than the newspaper.

William Michaelian said...

I’ve felt the same way about yours, Jonathan, for a good long time. Thank you, too.