I want the innocence of the 1970s again. Of rollerskating to disco music as a kid. Roller coasters, carnival food, the Jersey shore. Fireworks displays, sidewalk chalk, the ice cream man. I miss the feel of an old phone, a… Read More ›
prose
Saturday morning entry
Closing my eyes to the after images of weed leaf patterns. The sharp edges of being fully in the now. Taken to mid-morning naps on the sofa in the den with the morning light and pets, a greenhouse warmth and… Read More ›
Morning’s mantra, April
Springtime is one of the most beautiful times where we live. It’s a bath of sensory delights, especially in early morning. The distant woodpecker rattle, the sweet birdsong as it builds. Some crows and repetitive sounds all layered together. I… Read More ›
My heart aches for these days
In the morning on the warmest day it’s still cool but you can feel the temperature start to change. I get to the park earlier than normal and the sky is the color of abalone shell, turquoise mixed with pink…. Read More ›
Season’s surplus
There is more life than I can use, so I squander it on fruitless things like video games or bad books or going to bed early. The funny way life inches forward mostly unseen. The spring blooms that would bring… Read More ›
It’s more than a feeling
Growing up in the 70s it’s hard to reconcile the kid I was then with the person I am now. A shoebox full of Polaroids and old prints, in the days before smartphones when everyone looks surprised by the camera,… Read More ›
The last night of the fair
Fried pie, gator kabobs, a handwritten sign that says This isn’t fast food it’s fresh food so thanks for being patient. T-shirts like I got SCONED at the fair (with a big scone). A sexualized version of the little mermaid… Read More ›
Opening track
So much drama in these clouds it could be late summer, pre-autumn. All the limbs waving and the windmill going, the swoosh of the leaves. I am out with the headphones on a walk and the Moody Blues again, a… Read More ›
Last number for the season
Dozing on the sofa on a Saturday with just the sound of clocks and some far-off engine. Days of Future Passed by the Moody Blues and all this rumination on time. The record is draped in the 60s and feels… Read More ›
Everything we have we’ll lose
When you say goodbye to someone you love it’s a knife’s edge between the past and present. They are both with you and not. It can feel like the amputee’s phantom limb or Schrödinger’s cat, the seam between seasons when… Read More ›
Bill Pearse 