Author Archives
Bill Pearse publishes memoir, travel journals, poetry and prose, and lives in the Pacific Northwest.
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You never give me your money
Lily, born today and growing up in that little house in West Seattle behind the Sub Shop #9 and the corner bar we never once visited, Chuck and Sally’s.
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The new normal
The seam between winter and spring.
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Song for March invocation
The awareness of how different it is here than in my neighborhood in the suburbs.
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This life is a book I don’t want to finish
It’s a game where there is no winning, only the joy in the odd and unexplained.
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5th and Hamilton
Maybe the art was in the refashioning of otherwise useless things.
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At first, and then
That was the first time I realized that just because you put something in print doesn’t make it any better than it was from the start.
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The strength of strings
I started to learn that to write is to live, and you can’t do much of the former without the latter.
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Quiet choir for midwinter mornings
The end of the world or start of a weekend when everyone’s away.
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Gig work and trapeze artists
It can be scary for a contractor without the promise of work lined up after you end a gig, like a trapeze artist letting go of one swing and reaching out for the next.
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Song for early morning meditation
Early morning walks from the cottage in January as the light is coming on earlier day by day.
Bill Pearse 