I got the ax out of the chicken coop to split the wood for the first autumn fire. Without ceremony, I hung the lawn chairs in the garage for the season and put away the hammock and lawn furniture. A… Read More ›
short prose
Top down
On the first foggy morning of late September the daylight cut itself in half and the moon looked full as we drove home from our birthday celebration for Charlotte. We climbed the steps to bed, the three of us (Dawn… Read More ›
Song to the dark lands
When I look through the trees at the park near our house they are all pretty much the same as when we started coming here—like me, a bit older but still the same, mostly unnoticed. And the kids were so… Read More ›
Reserving the giblets
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 ›
Fallen, moss-covered tree in the aspect of a dog
There was nothing more of it left at the end, the day got sanded down to a pile of dust smaller than the shape it started. The dishwasher ran and the rain looked to stop for a minute, but only… Read More ›
Rain prose: going to work, to live
We were between fronts again. In the morning the sound of the birds seesawing the air in their rocking chair, rhythmic arcs: those sing-song loops like fireworks for wartime, warning cries, maybe just bliss. The air was damp from last… Read More ›
Ant prose, exterminator
Then the exterminator came and I liked him right away by the sound of his voice in the doorway talking to Ginger, crouching down, petting her, making some joke about the ants, but then he was all business: what have… Read More ›
A different kind of blue | rain prose, 29 März 17
Double the average, normal rainfall for the month and year so far, double. It makes the trees look distorted like they’re rubbed out by TV static snow, makes the same crackling hiss on the ground and pavement. The static snow,… Read More ›
All the men at the bar bent over their phones
All the men at the bar bent over their phones and me among them, with Jimi Hendrix and sports recaps playing and the dull chatter that burbles and rolls like the tide spitting up their remains, making it all disappear… Read More ›
Monday stop light meditation at the five-way
The kids were small enough then they didn’t have the wherewithal to complain or object, they just got in the car with the dog, the three of them in the back and me driving, Dawn saying isn’t this nice, and… Read More ›
Bill Pearse 