Bill Pearse

Recent Posts - page 79

• Catching up with Pablo

  By Bill Pearse on August 27, 2018 • ( 13 )

  At the end of a long day I cleaned myself in the back yard with Pablo Neruda, setting him down on my stomach, rubbing my eyes the way you would a catcher’s mitt, breaking it in. And I remembered a… Read More ›

• That last Sunday in Prague

  By Bill Pearse on August 26, 2018 • ( 14 )

  

  Brad said he was getting up at 5 to photograph the Charles Bridge. That time of day, it’s only the serious photographers out and the drunks. He described scenes of people on their sides getting sick, some passed out, unclear… Read More ›

• Song for late summer’s sorrow

  By Bill Pearse on August 25, 2018 • ( 6 )

  

  When the sun came out it hardly mattered with the wildfire smoke and clouds and cloying mood that comes from late summer days you’ve seen enough of: No, the sun was going under, swallowed and swollen, buried by messy, careless… Read More ›

• Walking down the unlit hallway of life

  By Bill Pearse on August 22, 2018 • ( 24 )

  

  Outside in the mid-afternoon there was just the sound of birds and kids and cars going by. It was too hot for anything, everyone hanging onto the edges by the shade. I’d gotten up when the church bells struck six… Read More ›

• In the Alps with Eberhard | Size Really Does Matter

  By Bill Pearse on August 17, 2018 • ( 31 )

  

  We went back to the Austrian Alps and it was the same as it was last time, ending our hike on an old chair lift, coming down the valley with the sound of cowbells and accordion music drifting up, back… Read More ›

• Dream of forgetfulness in the wake of night

  By Bill Pearse on August 11, 2018 • ( 6 )

  In the papery pre-light of dawn my wings like a honey bee’s begin to break down my body a weight I can’t let go, these words are the weights when they hang here, unsaid.

• It is the right light to be critical

  By Bill Pearse on August 7, 2018 • ( 15 )

  On Tuesday the moon was still up when I walked to the lake in the morning. I was in the slot, now. Like being at the airport on one of those skywalks when you know you’re about to go time… Read More ›

• Checking ID at the border between heaven and earth

  By Bill Pearse on August 1, 2018 • ( 9 )

  We sat waiting for the heat to break. They said the record for this day was 103, set back in 2009. That was the day we flew to Germany for our first family sabbatical. In fact we’d gone to Germany… Read More ›

• One commitment (for August)

  By Bill Pearse on August 1, 2018 • ( 14 )

  In the morning before the sun is up, when the cloud deck makes the light go soft and pale, the grass is the color of straw dried-out and sharp, golden red. The lawn sprinklers wake spitting and cussing, and the… Read More ›

• A jarful of days

  By Bill Pearse on July 30, 2018 • ( 9 )

  In the corner of my yard in the mid-afternoon heat in my hammock with Pablo Neruda between my legs, my glasses off, bare-chested and unbathed, I think about death: my body a lump in a sack swinging here: all this,… Read More ›

• ‹ Older Entries
• Newer Entries ›