In the early morning before the sun comes up we sit in the dark with a candle and our coffees and ask how the other one slept. Letting the dog out and standing in the fog, hurrying back in beneath… Read More ›
journal writing
Song for March invocation
The awareness of how different it is here than in my neighborhood in the suburbs.
At first, and then
That was the first time I realized that just because you put something in print doesn’t make it any better than it was from the start.
Gig work and trapeze artists
It can be scary for a contractor without the promise of work lined up after you end a gig, like a trapeze artist letting go of one swing and reaching out for the next.
Any day a holiday
Knowing we had it good then but not realizing how much.
Procession
Fine, wet snow falling. Snow like sifting sugar, adding to last night’s on the lawn, filling in the footprints, whitening the paths I shoveled earlier in the drive. How it comes on harder then, how the branches droop from the… Read More ›
We are in the south of France now
It is this time, I think to myself on the couch, that I will want to keep with me forever.
The last of the daily monastic offices
I got up and drank coffee, cooked bacon, went back to bed. I lay on the sofa with my face against the leather and the pale mid-morning light, the sound of blues music and the cat mewing, the laundry machine,… Read More ›
When everything matters
It was like I’d just discovered the scale of life, that there was more of it than I could ever consume.
The intensely masculine act of splitting wood
I fantasized regularly about having a good woodpile. For me, woodpiles always represented a unique combination of order and comfort. Everything in its right place. But after three days of splitting wood every part of me hurt. On the third… Read More ›
Bill Pearse 