“Why it’s good to break routines” I was curled in bed like a backwards comma, like a crescent roll or uncooked prawn, embryonic, curled inwards. The guy at the gas station looked homeless when he approached; we talked a good… Read More ›
pacific northwest
Sky therapy
The sky was biggest at Rock Meadow, the nearby horse farms where I sometimes walked. Though it was just 10 minutes from our house whole months could go by without me going there. On the right of the small road… Read More ›
User’s sanctum
The silhouettes of the horses in the pre-dawn dark look two dimensional. They move at the same pace as me along the lodge pole fencing at the horse farms. Some distant frogs croaking and the din of morning traffic; it’s… Read More ›
Meditation on fake body parts
It was really hard to sit in the dark in the early morning and do nothing. Blame it on the coffee but my mind raced. There was an odd peace at that time of day standing in the yard with… Read More ›
Homestead style
The morning sun was an angry red dot, a burning ball of flame coming through the trees. The sun made the leaves golden pink; it lit everything with a glorious soft tint. All the trees were leaning or bent and… Read More ›
Waning crescent
There’s no point in hurrying to get up now. The thought of an all-cold shower is impossible. But sitting by the picture window in the den at 0500h. the moonlight is splendid, sickle shaped and perched between an isosceles triangle… Read More ›
Waning gibbous
At the park the grass is bleached out and bald, the color of sand, under the big pines. Several came down in last autumn’s bomb cyclone and they had the park entrance taped off with warning signs but of course… Read More ›
Chewing the furniture
The dog would just stay upstairs and sulk when Dawn was away, only coming down to feed. It’s like she took it personally. All the aluminum foil balls we used to keep the cat distracted were clustered under the sofa…. Read More ›
August Moon
Walked to the lake in the dark for the first time in a while, sick of being cooped up. Forgot how it looks when there’s fog in the street lamps, a cone of milky light with bugs flapping about. Frogs… Read More ›
Waxing gibbous
Friday is a carbon copy of Wednesday with the post-dinner ice cream at the DQ—same order and procedure pulling into the same parking spot, spooning it with the windows down—except on Friday the queer, wildfire smoke sun is back, the… Read More ›
Bill Pearse 