The train is always the same and so are the vineyards, the trees just starting to change. Europe holds on to its roots. Once in Florence a guy said to me, in the States you live in the future; we… Read More ›
Poetry
Still-life red
Woke late, found it October all of the sudden, took the route through the wooded valley off the Himmelsleiter. Got caught behind a class of students also taking the steps up but who mysteriously vanished. Pocketed a fresh chestnut fallen… Read More ›
On mouse traps and handcuffs
I couldn’t make sense of the mouse trap; it was a catch and release model. Two doors on either side of the cage with what looked like a metal toothpick to spear a piece of cheese, or something you’d use… Read More ›
No quarter
It happened too soon, the season of repose, I turned in too soon Me on that ridge alone in the summer by the mountain with no one around for miles Coming upon a buck then a bear, my voice echoing… Read More ›
Last quarter
I walked to our neighborhood park, the one on the lake by our house. It gets a lot of traffic this time of year with the early morning anglers fishing off the dock and the teenagers and toddlers who flock… Read More ›
Low-angled light (for Rosemerry)
Low-angled light, especially in the morning, different angles of light at different times of the year. The low-angled light through the forest when it’s amber colored or even tawny if there’s wildfires. How the impressionists were drawn to that area… Read More ›
Grounded
It is now the time of the wildfires and web worms. The digital map of fire shows their size and location, and we look surrounded—though the air quality is still good. The web worms gather in clumps on certain kinds… Read More ›
The last time you tried to quit
You will go much further than you ever thought before you stop. You will even think I should quit, and yet you will keep going. You will do it time and again, and then you will say enough, you’ll stop… Read More ›
One last time to Shy Bear Pass
There were two places I wanted my ashes spread. One was our favorite camp spot on the Washington coast, Oil City. No oil, no city. A bad name for a beautiful place. The other, less exotic spot was right here… Read More ›
Wild life
The grass was now the color of a pale copper coin not yet brown, more golden. The grass color had varied hues and smelled sweet and the smell reminded me of the harvest festivals of my youth. Further up the… Read More ›
Bill Pearse 