Author Archives

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

• Deep impression by a shallow pool

  By Bill Pearse on July 10, 2016 • ( 9 )

  

  Gray smear of a Saturday too wet for yard work, it still seems everyone’s gone since the Fourth. You can hear a car engine coming a way’s away, they cut arcs around the bend and go in and out like… Read More ›

• How the week ends

  By Bill Pearse on July 8, 2016 • ( 8 )

  

  The leather couch in the family room I thought would break in but never did, that reminds me of times we paused while climbing a mountain and the care required to anchor yourself on a glacier for fear of slipping… Read More ›

• Birdsong reports before dawn

  By Bill Pearse on July 8, 2016 • ( 10 )

  

  We set the coffeemaker to go off at 3 and it did. I got back from the airport before 5 and walked to the lake in the rain without an umbrella to see if anything happened and my friend Tim… Read More ›

• The last of the pulled pork sandwiches

  By Bill Pearse on July 7, 2016 • ( 12 )

  

  There was a time we used to just sit and watch our kids’ swim lessons at the Y and it was cute and sweet but that time has passed, and the last two days I take my laptop and wait… Read More ›

• The third to the fifth

  By Bill Pearse on July 5, 2016 • ( 14 )

  

  On the third of July I wear a sweater most of the day, shorts, argyle socks I thought were on their last leg, write about the rain, try to nap, serve breakfast after 12, sit on a rock by the… Read More ›

• How we managed to stay friends with the friends who rented our house

  By Bill Pearse on July 3, 2016 • ( 9 )

  

  There was probably not much more bad that could happen to it, the Modest Mouse shirt, so I put it in the dryer with the rest and closed the lid. And I checked on the girls because the door was… Read More ›

• Faces in the driftwood the color of bone

  By Bill Pearse on July 2, 2016 • ( 10 )

  

  At the Starbucks in Aberdeen on the Washington peninsula halfway to the coast with the kids and Ginger, the condiment bar a shit-show, the aftermath of a frat party, a scene from Weird Science but with milk stains and sugar wrappers and… Read More ›

• That last trip to Teanaway

  By Bill Pearse on June 28, 2016 • ( 14 )

  

  The dog Ginger, car camping for two nights, trying to break the food addiction she picked up in Germany with the 24/7 on-demand treating and feeding, so hungry she’s licking a patch of dirt in the gravel road, licking what… Read More ›

• Night falls on Teanaway

  By Bill Pearse on June 27, 2016 • ( 22 )

  

  Ginger licks the sleep out of my eye, licks the insides of the rain fly for condensation, doesn’t understand tent etiquette or the idea of personal space, steals my sleeping bag each time I get up, looks like Kermit the… Read More ›

• The stain that won’t abate becomes a feature

  By Bill Pearse on June 22, 2016 • ( 17 )

  

  The never-ending stain on the rug at the threshold between the kitchen and the dining room has the tenacity of a birth mark, it’s as hard to remove, has become my daily penance, a Greek who’s upset the gods now on… Read More ›