Lily, born today and growing up in that little house in West Seattle behind the Sub Shop #9 and the corner bar we never once visited, Chuck and Sally’s.
prose
The new normal
The seam between winter and spring.
Song for March invocation
The awareness of how different it is here than in my neighborhood in the suburbs.
This life is a book I don’t want to finish
It’s a game where there is no winning, only the joy in the odd and unexplained.
5th and Hamilton
Maybe the art was in the refashioning of otherwise useless things.
At first, and then
That was the first time I realized that just because you put something in print doesn’t make it any better than it was from the start.
The strength of strings
I started to learn that to write is to live, and you can’t do much of the former without the latter.
Quiet choir for midwinter mornings
The end of the world or start of a weekend when everyone’s away.
Song for early morning meditation
Early morning walks from the cottage in January as the light is coming on earlier day by day.
Any day a holiday
Knowing we had it good then but not realizing how much.
Bill Pearse 