prose yoga

Sunday morning salutation

Self-portrait, Besigheim (Feb. '16)
Self-portrait, Besigheim (Feb. ’16)

When the sun rose you could hardly tell. A set of bats stirred from their perch, and were gone. The whole tree, made of bats. Some branches wagged and bobbed, didn’t say a word. The gray inaction, Sunday morning. Even the animals seem to know, they take their time. Now all the trees rock side to side like we’re on a boat, you engage your core, root down, breathe. “Tree pose.” Slow the mind and regard it for what it is for a moment. No matter how fast we spin and rollick our way through the universe, no one knows how we got here or where we’re going. Why not try to stop, just once.

By pinklightsabre

Bill Pearse publishes memoir, travel journals, poetry and prose, and lives in the Pacific Northwest.

18 replies on “Sunday morning salutation”

Finished Moonglow. From a memoir point of view, it’s quite remarkable in its structure and it’s ability to surprise (and the structure is essential to that). For that alone, I recommend it. Plus, it’s a good story. Off for my first x-country ski in two winters!

Liked by 1 person

Good, thanks for getting back to me on that. Structure, good. I’m rereading The Corrections and enjoying it more this time, remarkable. Have fun in the outdoors today!


I think it’s a red flame, kind of animated, as part of the storefront window display, trying to frame some Eastern-themed setting in a small German town. I used to buy incense there.


Ah, right. You’re close to going on my no comment list, with all these mystical references, starting to make me nervous…

Liked by 1 person

That’s cool. I need to mail you a used plush toy or something, for commenting on a weeks worth of posts here. You want the gecko or the sheep (it has horns, technically a ram I guess).

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