The bright red Mickey Mouse socks my kids gave me before the pandemic were now going pink and faded with holes opening at the heels. These socks, like so many things in my life, held small resonance. They meant something… Read More ›
mindfulness
Sunrise over Cutthroat Pass
The moon was waxing gibbous over the ridge line coming into the North Cascades. I drove past the sad town of Oso where they had the mudslide, past the town of Darrington where I lived one summer. Past a mountain… Read More ›
The world of clocks and mirrors
We dropped Lily off at her new school, a “step-down school,” just 40 students with half coming from a residential treatment center and the others a wilderness therapy program like Lily. The town is in somewhere Utah, a town like… Read More ›
Warrior 1
It can be enough actually, this: Just the angle of the day and you doing your best To cup a few handfuls of what it was like No different than wildflowers pressed in a book. Like the one in Scotland… Read More ›
On the drive to Soaring Eagle state park
The same old men walk the streets at the same time each day Through the fog and birdsong, the runners in their new sweats And the world for what they see is mainly gray, for they look inwards They walk… Read More ›
Song for replenishment
Let us be near the water and not want for anything else In the morning when the sun lights the tops of the tall trees and they burn like a candle to the bottom Let us be near the water… Read More ›
Broken antenna
My phone says good morning to me, beside today’s temperature there sits a happy golden sun throwing beams like an Egyptian glyph. Past my phone, outside the window, the sun plays on the tall trees where invisible birds peep and… Read More ›
Tow-away zone
A mess on the ground that looks like a witch’s wig, but it’s a crow. A dead crow. I’m superstitious enough it’s a sign, and sure enough…cops around the corner with a tow truck about to mount a Range Rover…. Read More ›
“Transmission”
The butcher’s knife slipped off the edge of an onion and into my fingertip and somehow just the idea of my blood on the cutting board seemed to freak everyone out, for fear I was infected.
Days, leaves, light
How the days unfurled unexpected and just hung there in the light.
Bill Pearse 