Climbing mountains you get high enough you can see above the cloud deck, the tips of the other peaks coming through, how the clouds look like soup from above, and in every direction just the land stretching out, no cities—like… Read More ›
prose
On Tuesdays they come for the recycling
Then the clouds came down so low they flattened the trees and the rain thickened, the drains backed up, the only color from the dead leaves hanging on like rust, the rest of it graphite gray: and the grocery store… Read More ›
St. Stephen’s Day, west Cork, ’15
All the UPS drivers have gone home to their families with their shorts and their socks, and the gravel road out front is quiet tonight with no crunching of wheels or deliveries: the grocery store is closed but they’re getting… Read More ›
Wet metal drum
The sound of the rain came back last night, choking the corner gutter. The feeling when life pulls away in some irreversible moment, a large ship moving out from the dock and everyone running down to the end of it… Read More ›
Abusing cough syrup with New Age music and household pets
We didn’t own any thermometers in the house, didn’t want to. I went to the store for a sponge so I could use one in the bath to warm up, and then I answered some emails and got into bed,… Read More ›
Bill Pearse 