Author Archives
Bill Pearse publishes memoir, travel journals, poetry and prose, and lives in the Pacific Northwest.
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‘Why we try’ | on symbols and habits
The way the sun came through the windows made it look like lattice, the shadows of the tree branches on the window sills. I thought about dropping mom at the airport, but really thought about it because I’d thought about… Read More ›
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Inauguration day
At the very end of January the light is always the same. Though the sky’s cold and gray, the clouds balled-up fists, the calendar adds a square each day, a few more minutes of sun before it swings on a… Read More ›
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The sweet smell of woodsmoke mixed with ocean spray
I pulled into Portland around sunset, crossed the grated bridge through the city limits, two fingers of light left on the horizon. Hard to keep my eyes on the road with the snow-covered volcanoes on my left, the sky turning… Read More ›
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Trump, Orwell and the carnage of lies
Last year I read 1984 after we’d gotten back to Germany, in February. I was sick and feverish, and finished it in two nights. In the preface it said Orwell had lived through two world wars (he died shortly after… Read More ›
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Interview with Western Slope Poet Laureate | Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer
Today I get to share one of the writers who’s inspired me most over the past year, through her commitment to a daily writing practice, and living an artful life. Enjoy this interview with Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer, and follow her… Read More ›
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‘How little remains’ (on youth, memory, memoir)
I went back to the old apartment. The old apartment was best going back to alone. I tried taking my kids there or Dawn, but to them it was just an old apartment. To me, there was so much more…. Read More ›
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One hard week in the south of France
Last year at this time we were ending our stay in the UK, having left Germany for 90 days and now returning: we finished up in Bath and spent a night in Canterbury, then caught the ferry from Dover, drove… Read More ›
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Blue in green: Monday, January 23
I got too close to my car, which is never good (emotionally attached), probably starting to identify with it falling apart, the inexplicable warning lights flickering going up steep hills, knowing it was only a matter of time. And I… Read More ›
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Whether we feel it or not, the earth moves beneath us
It was the first night this year that didn’t fall so hard. If it had been a theater production and a light cue, they changed the fadeout from 30 seconds to 60. Though unseen, hope stirred underground and you could… Read More ›
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‘There is a light that never goes out’
I lay in a hot bath but the seal in the stopper leaked and the water went down (and I with it, too): and once under- neath the tub I looked up at a light the shape of a ring coming… Read More ›
Bill Pearse 