Author Archives
Bill Pearse publishes memoir, travel journals, poetry and prose, and lives in the Pacific Northwest.
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Meet The Eye
There’s always more to life than meets the eye. Sorcerers, artists, the criminally insane: they all see the hidden meaning in daily life. You can open yourself to the world’s mysteries or drift through it like a ghost, with no… Read More ›
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Just Right
When I was living alone and first writing, I used a Smith Corona manual typewriter I bought on Capitol Hill. If I got stuck, or didn’t like what I was writing, I pulled the sheet out of the roller and… Read More ›
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Last Import
The screen has gone white, and snow is expected to return. The commuters are back, and make sounds like waves against the wall, below. It is just me and the heater, with the tick-tock of a clock, the Christmas tree,… Read More ›
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Cave
I bought a collection by Rilke at Darvill’s bookstore on Orcas Island, hoping it would free me from a year without writing. The store is small, warm, and jam-packed with books. A chime goes off when the door opens, and… Read More ›
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A simple truss
Mom got a turkey for us at the market while we were in France. But then Eberhard told her she should take the plastic off, and cook it right away or we’d get sick. So she took the plastic off,… Read More ›
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WYSIWYG
Two days in France, eight kids aged 4 – 11, seven of them girls: the 10 and 11 year-olds are allowed to drink Champagne. We eat lunch just before 4, then dinner at 11:15. They all drink coffee afterwards, about… Read More ›
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Care
Whatever pain it is that can only be expressed by killing Grows like a spore, travels by the winds to all reaches of the world. These infections flare up, heal over, get forgotten, recur. The cure is not to contain… Read More ›
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Weekly Photo Challenge: Surprise
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A picture in every direction
Up the uneven stone steps, above the valley The sound of the train approaches, then slows The brakes squeal on the tracks, then release: It’s the sound of a sabre that cleaves the valley, the sound of ancient times and… Read More ›
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The Chair of Forgetfulness
It is a small world on the Internet. The Web expands and contracts, and as it moves, we are all connected to it. Dawn calls it The Chair of Forgetfulness because when she sits down to look into it, time… Read More ›
Bill Pearse 