Author Archives
Bill Pearse publishes memoir, travel journals, poetry and prose, and lives in the Pacific Northwest.
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Morgenstund hat Gold im Mund
3 Feb 25 It was a strange winter holiday. Who vacations in January to some place cold? The Germans in mom’s village were all speculating why I was here and was mom’s health okay? They would go to Mallorca. But… Read More ›
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Last Sunday in Germany
2 Feb 25 Now the train moved in reverse as it left the station. I always enjoyed bookending my arrival in Germany with a mirror image at the end. From the time I first saw mom waiting for me at… Read More ›
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Last Friday in January
31 Jan 25 I did not feel it pressing down on me, or lifting me from my bed in the middle of the night, that mad desire to capture the moment of being here. It happened in the past, for… Read More ›
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Do the collapse
30 Jan 25 Went to the Rat for lunch today and yeah, I got the Schweinerückensteak, a kleine portion that was still too big. Convinced mom to forgo the Kaiserschmarrn in favor of a walk. Almost broke down for some… Read More ›
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Dreams are like water, colorless and dangerous
28 Jan 25 In the dream I was a kid again with my schoolmates going somewhere far away on a school trip. We were filing into a large crowded seating area and everyone was quickly deciding who they wanted to… Read More ›
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Last Sunday in France
27 Jan 25 It was a strange night at the paella party. Laurent and Nanou invited two couples; the women were friends of Nanou’s since high school, one couple Algerian and the other couple about to be married, everyone in… Read More ›
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Les Bres in Metz
25 Jan 25 In the morning Laurent is sitting at the kitchen table with a little knife shaving the pith off an orange. The night before he boiled the milk with the cinnamon sticks as the base for the crème… Read More ›
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The French
25 Jan 25 Yesterday we drove to France to spend the weekend with our friends Laurent and Nanou, their kids Romane, Valentine and Mathis, a new baby boy named Hector. Driving across Europe I felt expansive. In two or three… Read More ›
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The big eraser
23 Jan 25 After days of it the fog finally broke and everything looked crystalline or coated in confectioners’ sugar, flocked. Before bed I read Anne Lamott’s memoir, the scene of her with her dad that day at the beach… Read More ›
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Belongings and belonging
22 Jan 25 In the morning the frost looked like snow on the rooftops and roads and made for art photography that never came out right. I liked the town better when it was empty and closed down and imagined… Read More ›
Bill Pearse 