The bright red Mickey Mouse socks my kids gave me before the pandemic were now going pink and faded with holes opening at the heels. These socks, like so many things in my life, held small resonance. They meant something… Read More ›
spirituality
Dream sequence, prayer
In that dream I was walking out of an airport trying to figure out where I’d parked. There were vague signs showing names of gates and parking lots but soon it all got confused and I realized I didn’t know… Read More ›
The meaning of existence can’t be supplied by religion or ideology
Last night’s wood fire still broods, it hangs in the air. I am made older by it, my inability to relate. And the desire to retreat inwards, down a path with no exit and no room to turn around.
The loop
Walking to the lake with Lily and how she seems to grow older with every step, as if it’s happening on this very walk, these new features in her face…and how time bends.
Nowhere else to be
Days the world just settles in around you.
Hello, goodbye
In the dream I had just gotten a sleeve tattoo, like the armor on a teenaged mutant ninja turtle, panes from a tortoise shell, orange and red. And I was walking into the Starbucks corporate office for a new job,… Read More ›
Norwegian wood
He turned bowls made out of reclaimed wood from the dead or fallen trees, the Norwegian maple from a cemetery reformed in the shape of a bowl Dawn picked out; we’d find a special place for it in our home…. Read More ›
Letters and passageways (2): Shawn and Seamus
This is a series of rewritten journal entries from the summer I spent in the south of France, the first entry here. Shawn Lee is my favorite bartender at my favorite bar, The Six Arms. He is often smiling, and… Read More ›
Letters and passageways: the summer of ’98, south of France
I went back to that summer I spent in the south of France, to recall what I could from my journals, letters, and photos. They resurfaced with the news of a friend who’d died, I’d last seen there—and played on… Read More ›
Song for late summer
The kids take pictures of me napping at unflattering angles. The first colors of fall start along the highway: the pink-purple fireweed against the green, the coming yellows and browns. Those black spruces leaning in the muskeg, long patches of… Read More ›
Bill Pearse 