Bill Pearse

Recent Posts - page 41

• Late summer serenade

  By Bill Pearse on August 27, 2021 • ( 16 )

  

  In the morning I go outside to smell the ground because it rained in the night, the first time in months, and the rain is a novelty that won’t stay that way for long, as novelties do. And it has… Read More ›

• Image of the full moon one August

  By Bill Pearse on August 25, 2021 • ( 19 )

  

  There is no time like never. In fact, never is the absence of time, its imagined opposite. And so right now, this is a time that would never happen: I’m on the beach in the middle of the night in… Read More ›

• Can you picture what will be, so limitless and free

  By Bill Pearse on August 17, 2021 • ( 16 )

  

  I miss the mornings, when there’s no one around. When I would buckle my belt as a state trooper would his holster and start my day sharp as an arrow, aimed at the center. But there is no one to… Read More ›

• Pink suns

  By Bill Pearse on August 13, 2021 • ( 22 )

  

  The August meteors were back, and with it memories of being in the Austrian alps by the farmhouse where we stayed, on my back on some dirt road watching for streaks of light across the night sky, making wishes. Bit… Read More ›

• On my way to the woodpile

  By Bill Pearse on August 8, 2021 • ( 6 )

  

  The spider by the woodpile was the size of a magician’s hand and moved as quickly out of view. How wild it was when you went outside! Life or death! All the bushes and trees hanging on for dear life…. Read More ›

• Split screen soliloquy

  By Bill Pearse on August 7, 2021 • ( 9 )

  

  I don’t have cause to look in the mirror much but when I do, it’s more like checking in with an old friend. How’s it going? How’s it really going? I look deep into my eyes for the real answer…. Read More ›

• To burn or to fade

  By Bill Pearse on August 6, 2021 • ( 13 )

  

  The flowers are wilted but give off some color still. The morning is damp, the first time in 50 days. You can hear the earth drink, the birds cry, the gutters trickle. All is still, a bough dips under the… Read More ›

• Kite song

  By Bill Pearse on August 1, 2021 • ( 18 )

  

  He turned stiffly and with great caution. He meted out portions of his day with a butter knife grimacing as he did. He was an old man well before he’d earned it in years. But being an old man was… Read More ›

• Making for a living

  By Bill Pearse on July 31, 2021 • ( 8 )

  

  And the craftsman tries not to look while the customer eyes his work. But in that moment it’s like they’re at the animal rescue debating should they take one in, give it a home.

• Someday gold

  By Bill Pearse on July 30, 2021 • ( 10 )

  

  The grass is so dry now it’s mostly brown, a brown you would call golden if you looked at it right. And what’s to stop us from calling it gold? This stretch of life resigned to a form of living… Read More ›

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