Author Archives
Bill Pearse publishes memoir, travel journals, poetry and prose, and lives in the Pacific Northwest.
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The rain, the rain, the rain
Winter set in like an abscess, like an infection.
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Happiness is easy
That jig-saw view of life taken apart, put back together.
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Procession
Fine, wet snow falling. Snow like sifting sugar, adding to last night’s on the lawn, filling in the footprints, whitening the paths I shoveled earlier in the drive. How it comes on harder then, how the branches droop from the… Read More ›
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We are in the south of France now
It is this time, I think to myself on the couch, that I will want to keep with me forever.
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Taking stock
The problem started with the awareness that the days were blurring together with little to set them apart.
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Slim fields of winter
And I just have to think, to consider the amount of loss I’ll feel when everyone is out of the house and it’s just me, positioning things exactly as they should be.
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Once a parent
Lily makes a gun shape out of her hand and puts it to her mouth, pulls the trigger. This, on a Sunday in response to me reminding her that she needs to get ready for confirmation class, if she wants… Read More ›
