1/21/26 The sound of the cock crowing in the morning is doleful the way it peaks and trails off. It’s so cold when the headlights hit the road it is all diamonds, the frost. Up ahead it’s the old guy… Read More ›
prose
High January
In the morning the biting cold as I’m walking in the dark. Some sweet smell of wood fire smoke and the din of far-off traffic. The din is like a distant waterfall in the woods, always there. The thrum of… Read More ›
Epiphany
The best light of day is on the seams of it, at the start and end. You don’t need to be a stoner to understand this but it helps. The stoner has a crude love of the sensuous, best realized… Read More ›
Extraordinary life
Then one day it just ends. The inexplicable way things begin and end. Like some pain in a joint or a job or the last of that awful, single-ply toilet paper roll you bought thinking it was the normal kind…. Read More ›
Beware of Maya
Drab autumn days. Leaves the color of old copper coins. Days meant for sofas and blankets and gloomy tunes. In short, my favorite kind of days. Days of tea and cloudy afternoons and poetry. Days of naps and not brushing… Read More ›
Rorschach
Up again before the timed lights came on. And then they were on. The cold that has you coiled in on yourself yearning for warmth. First thoughts of the day, mirror image of the last: how the coffee tumbler was… Read More ›
Dark enough
At last all the leaves were down. I used the tractor to grind them to bits and the blower to scatter the remains. In no time I’d been to Portland and back to the dark of my morning den. The… Read More ›
The sun is the same in a relative way
Not needing to go to school on a Thursday in late November was nice. I remember standing outside the car in the early afternoon noting the sky, the dull lead color but the light no less, heading to my grandparents… Read More ›
Sad Classical
For as much as I liked walking in the dark it was much better in the pre-dawn, more color in the sky. Nobody out on a Saturday but me and the rabbits. More reason for the owls hooting I guess…. Read More ›
Laszlo, Charlotte, Dawn, Timmy, the moon
Mom’s Hungarian lodger Laszlo made plans to move out. Charlotte and her friends are at an age they’ve started experimenting with alcohol. Dawn and I began a routine of going out on Fridays for dinner and sat by the window… Read More ›
Bill Pearse 