Though they said it was full there was no sign of the moon behind the clouds. The dog’s muzzle started to go white, we just noticed. We asked one another if they’d seen the same thing or it just happened…. Read More ›
prose
Blue skied an’ cleared one Saturday
The slow collapse of order brought me comfort, the release to chaos. The house in disarray with shoes everywhere and kids and unclaimed cups and odd dining hours (10 o’clock for dinner) that reminded me of our times in France… Read More ›
Right before the storm the sky turned a queer pink
The wind came on hard so of course I had to go out in it: why does being out in extreme weather make us feel so alive (because at any moment it feels we may not be)? Is it really… Read More ›
Fallen, moss-covered tree in the aspect of a dog
There was nothing more of it left at the end, the day got sanded down to a pile of dust smaller than the shape it started. The dishwasher ran and the rain looked to stop for a minute, but only… Read More ›
Fireflies trapped in a jar, the days, prose
Some of the days flew by so fast, others you could trap in a jar. They were on the internet or in your computer on a spinning carousel, going back as far as you could right up to the present…. Read More ›
Portrait of a house cat eating a bird one Thursday
Charlotte and I sat at the breakfast nook eating frozen pizza and watching our cat Roxy eat a bird. I watched Charlotte watching Roxy for a few bites before she realized what Roxy was eating and was glad when she… Read More ›
Rain prose: going to work, to live
We were between fronts again. In the morning the sound of the birds seesawing the air in their rocking chair, rhythmic arcs: those sing-song loops like fireworks for wartime, warning cries, maybe just bliss. The air was damp from last… Read More ›
When they slide that heavy rock slab across your lids where will you sit, with what you’ve done?
And were we like those same straps they used to hold up trees, that look like slingshots tied from the trunk to the post—were we that same post for our kids, meant to just stay there in the ground long… Read More ›
A stream of consciousness, passing through April
We felt it winding down, that April. Who gets to be in Europe for nine months like that? I had no business complaining about having to go, it was time. It was starting to leaf out on the trees along… Read More ›
Ant prose, exterminator
Then the exterminator came and I liked him right away by the sound of his voice in the doorway talking to Ginger, crouching down, petting her, making some joke about the ants, but then he was all business: what have… Read More ›
Bill Pearse 