Normally after drinking coffee and walking in the morning I’m motivated to work around the house but today after breakfast I just lay on the sofa and gazed out the window. I needed to shower so I could put the… Read More ›
journal writing
Erasure
Now it took forever for the sun to come up and I just sat in the dark waiting. It could be like those mornings in the UK one winter I hand wrote by candlelight just to see what would happen…. Read More ›
Sky therapy
The sky was biggest at Rock Meadow, the nearby horse farms where I sometimes walked. Though it was just 10 minutes from our house whole months could go by without me going there. On the right of the small road… Read More ›
Meditation on fake body parts
It was really hard to sit in the dark in the early morning and do nothing. Blame it on the coffee but my mind raced. There was an odd peace at that time of day standing in the yard with… Read More ›
Dimanche
Time distends when we’re in France. We get up late, stay up late, eat late and we don’t make plans. No one is open for lunch on a Saturday so we order eight pizzas and Laurent gets out the fresh… Read More ›
The lift
For as excited as I was to be back in Europe I knew I’d miss my daily routine back home. Especially the drive to the park in the early mornings down the long, straight road. It’s curled like a tongue,… Read More ›
Waning crescent
There’s no point in hurrying to get up now. The thought of an all-cold shower is impossible. But sitting by the picture window in the den at 0500h. the moonlight is splendid, sickle shaped and perched between an isosceles triangle… Read More ›
August Moon
Walked to the lake in the dark for the first time in a while, sick of being cooped up. Forgot how it looks when there’s fog in the street lamps, a cone of milky light with bugs flapping about. Frogs… Read More ›
Why September always starts with fog
I have no idea. But it’s much better than pure gray. The blurring adds mystery, makes Japanese watercolors out of the banal. Took a drive last night for an ice cream, first time in six days outside the perimeter of… Read More ›
Our endless, numbered days
The cougar was more than a cougar, it was a metaphor. A fear of the unknown or being tracked by something immutable, time itself. If it were a Castaneda novel the cougar would be a witch, supernatural. I’d have to… Read More ›
Bill Pearse 