Author Archives
Bill Pearse publishes memoir, travel journals, poetry and prose, and lives in the Pacific Northwest.
-
Kite song
He turned stiffly and with great caution. He meted out portions of his day with a butter knife grimacing as he did. He was an old man well before he’d earned it in years. But being an old man was… Read More ›
-
Making for a living
And the craftsman tries not to look while the customer eyes his work. But in that moment it’s like they’re at the animal rescue debating should they take one in, give it a home.
-
Someday gold
The grass is so dry now it’s mostly brown, a brown you would call golden if you looked at it right. And what’s to stop us from calling it gold? This stretch of life resigned to a form of living… Read More ›
-
Broken antenna
My phone says good morning to me, beside today’s temperature there sits a happy golden sun throwing beams like an Egyptian glyph. Past my phone, outside the window, the sun plays on the tall trees where invisible birds peep and… Read More ›
-
Paperboy
I had never met or seen the people who lived in the houses I delivered to, but here was this girl I’d had a crush on and now I knew where she lived.
-
From Julius to Augustus
July gives way to August, and as it goes we are all giving way in this roundabout of life where you’re supposed to yield to the right but most don’t know what that means or pretend they don’t, as it… Read More ›
-
Where everyone would love to drown
I was barely 15 and didn’t have luxuriant tastes. I bought James Bond paperbacks and Dungeons & Dragons figurines. I wasn’t into drinking or drugs and didn’t have a girlfriend so I bought IZOD shirts and corduroy shorts and then all my money was gone.
-
Cast a shadow in my direction
There is so much to notice, starting with the shape of the land in this place beneath the big tree roots that’s roly-poly, not something you’d notice if you’re my size but definitely as an ant or a snake. Next… Read More ›
-
Take a look at my life, I’m a lot like you
I’ve been practicing what it feels like to be an old man for years now. An old man with all the good parts, none of the bad. The pace that is measured, unrushed. Days that spill out like a cracked… Read More ›
-
As the yard began to brown
Green is the color of life, and for today I am wrapped in a quilt of it on grass and fern and hanging tree boughs. Brown comes next, it is already on the edges of the sword fern, the cedars,… Read More ›
Bill Pearse 