Author Archives
Bill Pearse publishes memoir, travel journals, poetry and prose, and lives in the Pacific Northwest.
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Two-faced Janus
It felt lighter in the afternoon than it should, for this time of day. January turns itself around like that. The gardener came for the first time in a while, worked his ass off raking beds, blowing down the pavement,… Read More ›
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The sandtrap
There was not much new to the new year now, it seemed. Driving across the state, I ate a bag of wasabi-flavored smoked almonds in about 30 minutes, taking it by the handful, popping them one by one, wiping the… Read More ›
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Sunday’s flattened head
On the five-hour drive to Brad’s cabin I kept it cool in the car to stay awake, to keep my cold tolerance up. Driving across the state to the east, how it all flattens to farmlands and big skies, windmills,… Read More ›
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The day I turned purple (2019)
After 10 days without drinking, the swelling in my lower gut finally went down. A balloon losing air. On Monday I was offered a new job, and on Friday I turned in my laptop and said goodbye. The January bugs… Read More ›
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Peace and distance
On the day Bowie died, I drove from Stratford to a small town where I met Tish Farrell, a blogger friend. She made lunch and we talked about writing and traveling, and then I said goodbye and drove back down… Read More ›
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Launch
In the morning when Dawn starts the electric kettle it sounds like a rocket about to launch, slowly building pressure until it snaps free from the launch pad and lifts off. She pulls it down by the handle and sets… Read More ›
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A different plane
Life has led me here. Charlotte climbed down the steps from her bunk bed, and went downstairs to the kitchen. The dog circled and collapsed by our bed. Outside, the wind kicked up and the rain came on. I reflected… Read More ›
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Reflection
In the dream I was doing yoga in a class with mostly women, squatting, feeling overweight, with the sensation that my wang was poking out. It was, and I realized it must be a dream. I felt my body strain… Read More ›
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N/A
I woke at 5, brewed the coffee, and lit a candle. Maybe the first morning in two years I’d woken without any alcohol the night before. I’d done a dry January enough times now, I’d developed some nostalgia with it…. Read More ›
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On Sundays and holidays
We spent the aftermath of Christmas on Whidbey island, a town called Langley, so idyllic they still have phone booths with free local calls, wild bunnies, signs in the shop windows promoting inclusion, views of the water, a bell to… Read More ›
Bill Pearse 