I drank an ale and made the gravy. The gravy was to be made over several hours the book said. Outside it was gray and Dawn said look at that rain. It hadn’t been raining before, it just started, so… Read More ›
pacific northwest
The jagged blades the thin white veil
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 ›
Light a candle for now
After the wind storm I came downstairs and looked outside. The stars were out, the moon the shape of a hook, it seemed like it was just full. I lit some candles and made coffee. All this going back to… Read More ›
Dead souls soliloquy (for Archie Loss)
The cat is all business, can be found in the morning by the garage door flap like a killer in the shadows waiting in the dark for anything trying to get inside. Dawn remarked, there’s mouse innards in the utility… Read More ›
Mid-autumn snow in the foothills
Overnight the rain turned to snow and in the morning, made the lawns wet and patchy looking, the tree limbs bent back like bow strings. I drove Lily to the Park & Ride then walked down to the lake, remembering… Read More ›
The Famous Golden Larch
I don’t know what it is about me and hats, but I keep losing mine. There was the green Irish cap I got in a small, West Cork town: I wrote the name inside the rim (SKIBBEREEN 12-15) to mark… Read More ›
Song for mid-autumn morning
In the morning just past 6, though it might as well be the middle of the night. Headlights cut the dark, but it always grows back. The fog gives an illusion of light through the ambiguity it stirs, makes snow… Read More ›
The Firth of Forth
In the morning it was darker than we remembered it—Lily called out to Alexa three times to change the alarm, and I went downstairs to start the coffee, to check my phone. My vision was bad from the bug that… Read More ›
The parallax view phenomenon
Light frost on the grass, wet snow on the mountain passes. Just me and the ducks at the lake, when they paddle by they make a V that fans out and disappears. The morning sky’s a watercolor like the ones… Read More ›
October’s solemn smile
Thank god for the gold-red leaves for without them, I think there’d be no color. Old relatives like dead leaves fall off shriveled-brown-unnoticed and swept to the side, the cold takes them, a different kind of harvest. In the morning… Read More ›
Bill Pearse 