Now the lake advances in creeping hands along the shore and the lifeguard chair is empty, there’s the threat of showers, the tree boughs move with the underwater look of deep-sea creatures in slow motion and the frog beneath our… Read More ›
death
The last ice episode
This is the last in a series of posts I wrote from a recent backpacking trip on the PCT in Washington. Thanks for all my friends and readers for following along, go back to the beginning if you’d like to read… Read More ›
Some may say I’m wishing my days away
On Saturdays we only play reggae. I set the iPod by genre, select All, and it starts with Augustus Pablo, 1 of 275 songs, and ends with Serge Gainsbourg. It takes all day. When Laurent and his family were here… Read More ›
Final thoughts during the flight safety video leaving Newark
When my mom asked if I needed a pair of warmer socks for our walk (I’m 45) I reminded her this is the guy who’s slept on the side of glaciers and gotten up in the middle of the night… Read More ›
Understanding ist einfach
I tried wearing the same pair of jeans every day until something happened but nothing did. It was hard to remember what day it was. They asked us at the airport when we talked to the Bundespolizei, who were nicer… Read More ›
Siddhartha, the waiting room, ‘nowness’
The waiting room in the colon treatment center the morning after Fat Tuesday could be purgatory, where people wait to have their insides filmed through a probe, to hear how long they have to live, what they have, when they… Read More ›
Morning sky drawn in sidewalk chalk
Passage from Dover to Dunkirk, via Reims, to southern Germany Past the old vicarage down the hill in time for the last of the owls, bending at the bottom through a valley to the lake for disabled anglers — No… Read More ›
Anyone at all
When the time comes you have nowhere left to go, go back to sleep and forget about things for sleep is like death and won’t come when it’s called – it’s better to sleep without the weight of dreams and wake… Read More ›
Meet me at the cemetry gates
We dropped the kids off for their first day of German school, their first class French — French taught in German — and I walked to the cemetery by the Realschule, where we’ve started our third week of German classes,… Read More ›
Leaves clawing the cobblestones
When the French arrive, it’s with armsful of things from France: breads wrapped in brown paper bags, coolers full of cheese, boxes of wine, even duvets for their beds. It feels like a hotel and we lose track of how… Read More ›
Bill Pearse 