Author Archives
Bill Pearse publishes memoir, travel journals, poetry and prose, and lives in the Pacific Northwest.
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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 Disappearing Eyes
Henry and Eve told us about a castle out in the country off Keim Road, and we were convinced there was something bad happening there. Henry interviewed the owner and filmed it: two elderly men lived there, descendants of a… Read More ›
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Fog
Fog comes from a temperature imbalance between the earth and the atmosphere, I think. It also comes from a food/alcohol imbalance, and it’s thick here today. Any night that starts at the Christmas market with Gluhwein and the decision to… Read More ›
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Garden
When we get emails from the pre-K school, the subject line just says Garden. It took me a while, but I figured out this is because Charlotte’s grade level there is called Garden. When my mom thinks Merlin needs to… Read More ›

