I came to the bridge above the river, the one described in the guidebook. I’d taken a picture of it last time but it was only a green braid in the gray canyon rock, reduced down to that…. Read More ›
Bob Dylan
First light for August
The plane resembled a bird in the sky, reflecting back in the lake. There were a few on the dock fishing, spread out to give each other space. They were all having their moments with the lake, the morning light…. Read More ›
‘That you’re tired of yourself and all of your creations’
I hung the hammock out back on the ponderosas, tried to rest but couldn’t, drove to West Seattle to meet Anthony and Mike for Sunday beers. We got a letter they’re moving forward with the project next door, to tear… Read More ›
‘Most likely you go your way and I’ll go mine’
We got up. Though it was a Saturday we were out of bed by 6. It was getting grayish out and I wanted to see it. There’s a soft fade in reverse, mornings here. There’s some quiet before the kids… Read More ›
When you’re lost in the rain in Juarez when it’s Easter time, too
I envied Andrew Gabler for all he had that I didn’t have. He wore name-brand clothes, had chestnut-brown hair that shone, was good looking and built, athletic, played soccer better than I did and wrestled (though I always thought wrestling… Read More ›
Down the end of Clay Pit road
Matted down forest floor, now the leaves have lost their shape and rotting with the rest, the color wicked out no longer distinct, not worth saving in a book. Gray light in the forest, the branches the color of bone,… Read More ›
The 87
It’s almost time to go. The body snaps back like the rubber on a slingshot, hangs there limp for what’s next. The clock has a tick too. The cat understands no schedule. The rain has been going all night, it… Read More ›
The heart lies somewhere I can’t reach
We woke this morning to wet snow on the cherry blossoms outside and on the roofs, people with umbrellas, the smell of someone burning something, probably the stone bake house up the road. Dawn got the kids up though I… Read More ›
Dance of the honeybee’s memories
When I get Charlotte at school there’s an Italian girl who looks big for her age who’s taken to her but in an overly touchy way, scruffing her like a puppy and squeezing her too tight, and we have to… Read More ›
Bringing it all back home to Blonde on Blonde
We ate the last of the Tartiflette cold, mom most of it, and fought over the bites with our forks like we were playing a game of hungry hippos gulping down marbles. I got my first sunburn of the season… Read More ›
Bill Pearse 