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

  • Constellation

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    The night sky is full of stars Someone connected them all to make stories. Were the stories always there, Or did we make them so? Your life is a constellation: Find the corners, find the story.  

  • An inch from Paris

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    I have mixed feelings about technology. I say this, recognizing I have an Apple product in every room of our house, and without technology, you wouldn’t be reading this right now. The alternative is me dropping flyers from planes. My… Read More ›

  • Invocation

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    I wait for spirit with my laptop but my hands are still. There are too many people here, too many reminders. I get a reading, report, but then think better of it and strike it out. Over and over. I… Read More ›

  • Wasting my life cleaning

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    Resolution is too strong a word for it, but I am definitely planning on cleaning less this year. Whereas clutter can bother me to the point of distraction, learning to accept it can yield peace, almost a “comfort in clutter.”… Read More ›

  • Market

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    I visited an Asian supermarket yesterday for the first time, and saw things I had never seen before in a store. There was a Tai fruit that looked like something from a science fiction movie; Mike said it stank bad… Read More ›

  • How’s my driving?

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    I needed an invoice to get paid while I was gone from work. I asked James and Lisa to coordinate. When I came back, a copy of the invoice was on my desk, indicating “paid.” I contacted the vendor just… Read More ›

  • Postcard from Metz

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    The kids have gone through the advent calendars and left the empties on the floor. Laurent is cooking a chapon for Christmas, which he translates as a castrated cock, good and greasy. Eight kids aged 4-11, seven of them girls,… Read More ›

  • Hook

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    The hook is a hold in the rock where I first put my foot when I want to climb.

  • Schwäbische Sunset

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    Creator has put a smidge of pink on the cheek of the sky to dress herself for evening. She does so again in the morning, To cover the sins of the night.

  • Today Is The New Tomorrow

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    Crossing the international date line, thousands of miles above the Earth, time bends again We’ve collected pictures like seashells, like river rocks, and lucky coins each, the promise of a dream, an unspoken wish: speak now or forever hold your… Read More ›