There is a dip in the yard where a large root sack rotted out a long time ago. It sunk more and more until we got nervous and had to call someone out to look at it. But it was… Read More ›
Creative Nonfiction
Memento
We are trying hard to belong here by collecting what we can, to remember where we’ve been.
Promenade in green
In some ways the body was just an instrument, one you could play on a street corner for tips. And he had more body left than mind, more body left than soul.
Kaleidoscope of pink moons
Nick Drake. The wonder of discovery of this lost soul for many of us in the late 90s. Ghostly and withdrawn he passes through like something remarkable outside your window you’re likely to miss.
It comes in like a lion
I guess books remind us that one person’s experience could speak for thousands and we could share some intimacy with strangers, make the world a smaller place.
The comfort in patterns
We were getting near the end of it though the news warned of a fourth wave. And I’d been off work for a month now which seemed great from a distance but got strange the more I got inside of… Read More ›
The song of myself is a crude souvenir
The most precious things we keep hold meaning for only us, and it’s those things we surround ourselves with as time takes all the rest.
The crawlspace
The day was already ruined so he decided to check out the crawlspace. He hadn’t been to the crawlspace for years. There was no reason to unless there was a problem. He knew there’d be more to deal with if… Read More ›
Space is the place
Time moves with the same erratic force of those bleating jazz horns like locusts devouring anything in its path.
We should kill time
It rained like hell, like uncooked rice spit on the windows the sound. And the big tree branches lay in clumps around the yard. And the ground oozed like sores, like cartoon mouths. And I dozed and woke to the… Read More ›
Bill Pearse 