Mornings were clear on my walk to work that December, those last few weeks I worked at Starbucks. The walk took an hour but was mainly downhill and for the return route home I took the bus. Half way down… Read More ›
nostalgia
Small towns, long looks, late summer one Saturday
When a car comes down the road we all look up. It’s like the looks we used to get from the locals pulling into that small French town. Morning clouds, afternoon sun. Saturdays sleeping in. Just the sound of the… Read More ›
Future perfect
It is six years ago now and we are making plans to move to Germany. The kids will be at a good age, we’ll all learn the language. I’ll quit my job and take time to plan our next move…. Read More ›
The loop
Walking to the lake with Lily and how she seems to grow older with every step, as if it’s happening on this very walk, these new features in her face…and how time bends.
Spring frost
By the end of March I’d started taking Ginger on daily walks up the trails near my mom’s house in Germany. There were two sets of trails, but I didn’t know what they were called so I referred to one… Read More ›
Thanks giving
And then for a time it is just the sound of the dog licking an empty bowl I’ve turned out all the lights so the coming dawn can fill every room and why do we say, “I’m filled with loss”… Read More ›
The last day of the fair
Going to the fair was less about going to the fair and more about reliving past times we wanted to hold onto. I’d never noticed it before, but all the rides were basically the same. In the same positions even…. Read More ›
Outside the frame
I made plans to see friends I hadn’t seen in about 30 years, since high school. I took a Lyft to the bar and sat in a table by the front, and sent one of them a text: Pat fell… Read More ›
Regret
I imagined the house quiet, after they’d left. I could hear the memory of their voices as they were now, an echo. I could feel my heart pull in the way a hand contracts to a fist, the way a… Read More ›
Weights
At this time of day, this time of year, the butterfly glows gold in the window of our den it’s hung by chains, framed, with dust in the old border and cobwebs strung to the window’s edge the butterfly is… Read More ›
Bill Pearse 