In the dream I was doing yoga in a class with mostly women, squatting, feeling overweight, with the sensation that my wang was poking out. It was, and I realized it must be a dream. I felt my body strain… Read More ›
mindfulness
Top down
On the first foggy morning of late September the daylight cut itself in half and the moon looked full as we drove home from our birthday celebration for Charlotte. We climbed the steps to bed, the three of us (Dawn… Read More ›
Twilight September
In the late afternoon shadows, by the underlit leaves, near a tree bent by the weight of its own fruit…in the breeze between summer and fall: there, in the crook of a bush by a rock I spied a colored… Read More ›
Catching up with Pablo
At the end of a long day I cleaned myself in the back yard with Pablo Neruda, setting him down on my stomach, rubbing my eyes the way you would a catcher’s mitt, breaking it in. And I remembered a… Read More ›
Gray of lake combined to sky, the same
Through the narrow path in the nearby park, a semi-circle that crowns my walk, the trees are leaning in and damp with dew. It’s late spring now, past peak, broken petals brought down by an overnight rain. I come to… Read More ›
Cumulus in D-major
After work I went out back with a lawn chair to clear my head and watch the clouds. There was a flat spot to put my beer glass on a stump, from the plum tree we had taken out last… Read More ›
Each day, in-stead
It’d been a while since I took my morning walk to the lake. I couldn’t remember the last day I did but it didn’t matter, they all ran together. Passing the birds and rabbits I wondered how it felt for… Read More ›
Walk on guilded splinters
Though it works hard it’s the slowest clock I’ve ever seen, falling behind by an hour or more every day. I finished my first two weeks in the new job, celebrated our wedding anniversary late, worked through some issues with… Read More ›
When the saints go marching in
Softly the deer who live behind our house burrow down in a patch of green at night, and in the morning appear outside the abandoned house next door like figurines. The house has been abandoned for three years since it… Read More ›
The self-confining myth of inspiration by routine
Call it superstition, that ritual for good luck before you perform. I go to the same spot in our den, put on a record, light a stick of incense, hope that magic happens on the keyboard. After a time you… Read More ›
Bill Pearse 