Author Archives

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

• The first thing we’ll do is round up all the reporters

  By Bill Pearse on October 15, 2016 • ( 26 )

  If there’s an analogy to be made between the winding down of the US presidential election and a sunset, the analogy breaks down when you consider the fact that most people enjoy sunsets. I debated between a winter sunset, the… Read More ›

• Before we lost power I scheduled this

  By Bill Pearse on October 14, 2016 • ( 24 )

  

  I couldn’t help getting drunk before the storm, I fell into a dream where I never did land and saw my body flicker out, and forgot. I went out for the dark and the rain because why wouldn’t you, it… Read More ›

• How it felt before the storm

  By Bill Pearse on October 13, 2016 • ( 32 )

  Though the storm had started I took Ginger for a walk. It was raining harder than you can imagine, and the frogs were going nuts — like a scene from the bible announcing something auspicious, or maybe they just wanted… Read More ›

• A conference of the senses, the cedars

  By Bill Pearse on October 12, 2016 • ( 17 )

  

  They blew the cedar branches out of the storm drains and Charlotte said it reminded her of Christmas, the smell. We were on the road last December driving from Galway down the southwest of Ireland, stopping in Cork to meet my… Read More ›

• Autumn response

  By Bill Pearse on October 11, 2016 • ( 30 )

  

  Now the earth breathes in and we with it too, we lie down. In the spring the earth breathes out, the blooms and the blades, the stamens and spores land where they will. But now is the time of repose and response, of reflection: to fall… Read More ›

• Transfiguration

  By Bill Pearse on October 9, 2016 • ( 21 )

  The blowing, sideways rains of November have returned this October. When I got out of the hot tub I smelled worse than when I got in, a combination of bromine and chlorine you’re not supposed to mix, the smell of… Read More ›

• Five leaves left

  By Bill Pearse on October 6, 2016 • ( 12 )

  

  When I met Shana at the airport it was late October, almost three years since she left Seattle. I still didn’t have a car so I rented one, which seemed nicer than making her ride the bus. The last time… Read More ›

• Nine leaves left

  By Bill Pearse on October 5, 2016 • ( 31 )

  Dawn said come hell or high water, you better be working by September (that was April), but she doesn’t really talk that way, in italics, it sounds worse than it is. We were between low pressure systems spinning off Vancouver island… Read More ›

• The lines we used to find one another

  By Bill Pearse on October 4, 2016 • ( 20 )

  

  I went for the toilet but because it was dark I didn’t see the seat was up and nearly fell in. Mike and Kim renovated their house since I’d lived there, so it was now easier to get to the… Read More ›

• How the mist filled the valley in the morning with the light coming through

  By Bill Pearse on October 2, 2016 • ( 14 )

  

  Though it’s a Saturday there’s no one at the lake, just some birds on the shore bathing, a kids’ soccer game with shouting in the distance but it’s muted, it goes in and out with the wind. I can sit… Read More ›