Author Archives

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

• Leaving the Intercontinental, Frankfurt via the A67

  By Bill Pearse on February 22, 2016 • ( 29 )

  

  Something like 7 AM in the Frankfurt airport parking garage and the lift is out of order so we take the stairs and right away, it’s that Cold War vibe from the paint tones and the little signs and starkness… Read More ›

• Blog posts are bread crumbs the birds can’t eat

  By Bill Pearse on February 20, 2016 • ( 10 )

  

  The look of the sky today started pink but ended gray, and as I went walking I worried, did I have enough to break off to find my way, or would I get lost in the forest and the others with so little,… Read More ›

• How to look like an indie rocker without trying too hard

  By Bill Pearse on February 19, 2016 • ( 31 )

  

  It’s 62° F in my mom’s kitchen and I’m 45, wearing a scarf and an apron, browning onions. I never wanted to look like an indie rocker which is why I’m so good at it — people stop me on… Read More ›

• Love and moss during wartime

  By Bill Pearse on February 18, 2016 • ( 16 )

  

  Plaintive, silent moss that exists but for a balance between water and light: Can we appreciate it for what it is and ever stop rearranging things?  

• Understanding ist einfach

  By Bill Pearse on February 16, 2016 • ( 27 )

  

  I tried wearing the same pair of jeans every day until something happened but nothing did. It was hard to remember what day it was. They asked us at the airport when we talked to the Bundespolizei, who were nicer… Read More ›

• Sickle-shaped moon reflects on Berlin

  By Bill Pearse on February 12, 2016 • ( 27 )

  

  Our first night in Berlin for some much needed alone time as a couple after 90 days in the UK with our kids — needed it so bad, we considered Iceland — after a couple drinks in a burger bar reliving… Read More ›

• Siddhartha, the waiting room, ‘nowness’

  By Bill Pearse on February 10, 2016 • ( 19 )

  

  The waiting room in the colon treatment center the morning after Fat Tuesday could be purgatory, where people wait to have their insides filmed through a probe, to hear how long they have to live, what they have, when they… Read More ›

• Four months 18 summers ago in France

  By Bill Pearse on February 8, 2016 • ( 24 )

  

  In the fall of ’97 I announced I would be leaving my job at Starbucks that December, moving home to Pennsylvania for a few months and then on to southern France, to live in a condo on the beach a… Read More ›

• Morning sky drawn in sidewalk chalk

  By Bill Pearse on February 6, 2016 • ( 11 )

  

  Passage from Dover to Dunkirk, via Reims, to southern Germany Past the old vicarage down the hill in time for the last of the owls, bending at the bottom through a valley to the lake for disabled anglers — No… Read More ›

• That one winter in the UK

  By Bill Pearse on January 28, 2016 • ( 58 )

  

  By the time we got to Bath there was nothing left to see. I could have skipped London which would have been dumb, hiding instead in some quiet town by a river in the Cotswolds, some place even the English don’t… Read More ›