Author Archives

Bill Pearse publishes memoir, travel journals, poetry and prose, and lives in the Pacific Northwest.

• Shadow plots

  By Bill Pearse on June 28, 2020 • ( 13 )

  I rubbed the heels of my hands in my eyes and tilted my head back. Out here it is just the sound of birds, the neighbors never really out. The sound of a slow-moving jet, a passing car rippling out…. Read More ›

• Low relief

  By Bill Pearse on June 24, 2020 • ( 11 )

  

  Clear, starry nights with no moon, no pollution, and no time I need to get up. The Hawaiian shirt John gave me that’s missing a button right where my gut sticks out, but I wear it anyway. And that one… Read More ›

• Mondays don’t matter

  By Bill Pearse on June 22, 2020 • ( 13 )

  

  It is the best day ever! A Monday, full-on sun, and I’m not working yet. I smoked a five-pound pork shoulder on the bone and weeded, planted flowers, just poured a beer and it’s only 3.

• After all the jacks are in their boxes

  By Bill Pearse on June 21, 2020 • ( 10 )

  

  I’ve been off for two weeks now. God, I love being off! A chance to unwind and relax, to live without the stress and distraction of work. Greens and purples in the garden to greet the new season. The dog… Read More ›

• All these ironies we never asked for

  By Bill Pearse on June 20, 2020

  

  The night settled in and we filled the valley with our campfire smoke. It plumed out blue making the hillsides misty like we were somewhere far away in the bush, just me and Neil Young, his guitar and harp.

• Bull of the Woods

  By Bill Pearse on June 15, 2020 • ( 8 )

  

  All there is today is to take a walk or fix dinner, to take my car and have it fixed. This is a Monday without attachment, a Monday that doesn’t stick to you. And for that it could be any… Read More ›

• We are all under

  By Bill Pearse on June 11, 2020

  

  We are all just trying to get by, living off trash and whatever we can.

• “Weights”

  By Bill Pearse on June 10, 2020

  

  We are animated by a force that inhabits this shell, bound to it.

• This much madness is too much sorrow

  By Bill Pearse on June 8, 2020 • ( 17 )

  

  Everyone wanted to know what Dawn was getting at the store and everyone had something to add to her list. I remember when Sunday nights turned into week nights because people would email and spin up work conversations about the… Read More ›

• The interstitials

  By Bill Pearse on June 6, 2020 • ( 8 )

  

  Sitting outside as the storm gathers, on the outer edge of it: thinking that all things have their edges good or bad, where they begin.