175px-OrchardKeeperFirst sunny morning in Seattle, all year. I rediscover our yard, the abandoned shed at the back of the property. Roof caved-in beneath fallen cottonwood, can’t get close enough to see what’s inside. I could take back all the blackberry vines now, but if I did that, the kids would get to it.

All there is to do in the yard. I look at the pile of wood I made from two fruit trees I cut down, think about moving it to the back so the grass doesn’t die, there.

But when I go inside the house I see the cat on the rug in the living room, stretched out in the sun, I hear the Classical station playing Sunday morning Baroque, and I take to the sofa, cracking my new Cormac McCarthy novel, from 1965, his first.

It’s a dark amusement park, but the views from the top of the rides are fantastic.

About pinklightsabre

William Pearse publishes memoir, travel journals, poetry and prose, and lives in the Pacific Northwest.
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4 Responses to Prism

  1. alesiablogs says:

    hire some of those guys that stand by home depot! lol


  2. You have captured so well the push-pull of a season change! I’m not sure if that was your intent, but considering we’re in the middle of a winter blizzard, that’s what I’m going with. When it starts warming up here, we’re hard pressed sometimes to shake off the lethargy of cold and gray and dig into spring work.


    • pinklightsabre says:

      That’s cool – I hadn’t thought of it that way, but you’re spot-on! That’s exactly what I was between yesterday…funny. We haven’t had but a flake here. Have to drive to the mountains if we want to see snow. Sort of sad in some ways for the kids, but so be it.


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