In the gray light of morning the thin grass blades turned brown beneath the snow, the barn in the back, the sound of the heat through the vents, the coffeemaker, the keys clicking like teeth when I type: here, they all… Read More ›
meditation
Sunday morning salutation
When the sun rose you could hardly tell. A set of bats stirred from their perch, and were gone. The whole tree, made of bats. Some branches wagged and bobbed, didn’t say a word. The gray inaction, Sunday morning. Even… Read More ›
The sound of the rain
I sit by an open window in the dark with the rain, waiting for a picture of a sound, a spark. But the rain is just a sheet of paper crumbling over and over again, not an ocean tide or… Read More ›
When slice-of-life doesn’t cut it anymore
Eyes closed, on my back, losing touch with my position in space. Voices passing outside the door, in the hall. Someone pushing a cart. Someone running water. Can’t feel my hands, can’t move my feet. Mind is awake. I can… Read More ›
Prism
The prism is a piece of cut glass we hang in our window, to catch light and cast colors. It only works in the right conditions, when the sun is at the right angle, and it doesn’t last long. But… Read More ›
Bill Pearse 