Reposting the story of the Christmas we spent in West Cork, 2016. We debated what to do with the uneaten ham. It was impractical to stuff it in the car with all our things, tacky to leave it behind for… Read More ›
Ireland
The denial phase
Dawn and I sat at the top of our yard after we got our things out and talked. I had everything drying in the driveway, the sleeping bags draped over the cars. They didn’t need dried out, I just liked… Read More ›
West Cork Roundabout | Field notes from the Pacific coast
This is a series of posts I started in late May and plan to continue for 40 days, with a goal of hitting 50,000 words by July 5. It’s inspired by a three-day solo trek on the Washington coast, with… Read More ›
A conference of the senses, the cedars
They blew the cedar branches out of the storm drains and Charlotte said it reminded her of Christmas, the smell. We were on the road last December driving from Galway down the southwest of Ireland, stopping in Cork to meet my… Read More ›
Yoda’s coat
The vet with eyes a bit out of proportion to the rest of her head, a cartoon owl who talks too fast at high tones, she takes us through what we missed this past winter when we were in the… Read More ›
That last Christmas in Cork
We debated what to do with the uneaten ham. It was impractical to stuff it in the car with all our things, tacky to leave it behind for the owners, wasteful to throw it out, and so I climbed the… Read More ›
Pinklightsabre Announces UK Winter Tour
Here is a list of where we’ll be when in the UK, for anyone who wants to pop by or meet up or look after our kids so Dawn and I can go to a pub. If you’ve been to… Read More ›
First poem for fall
That first fall something found me there, the greys and browns of northwest Pennsylvania, what little light you find come November, the last of the leaves flapping just a few here and there, and yet … Read More ›
Stepping out of the lines
Summer ends so fast here it’s like they’re taking down a theatre set and replacing it with autumn, overnight. Eberhard has a saying, «I’m a man, I fix things» — and he lets the words hang over me like mist,… Read More ›
Green, Orange
Moss is emerging in our yard like a new nation, making the trees look like a psychedelic Yes album or a Tolkien book. I relocated the remains of the fruit tree to the back, day-dreamed in the hot tub, thought… Read More ›
Bill Pearse 