Around this time of day my eye starts to twitch and I have to hold it to make it stop. There’s the old wall clock in the living room that’s slow, needs help keeping up – then the clock in… Read More ›
time
Over the hills where the spirits fly | Field notes from the Pacific coast
It’s almost over, second-to-last post! This is a series I started in late May and have published daily for 36 days now. It’s inspired by a three-day solo trek on the Washington coast, with side-story memoir scenes wrapped by a few… Read More ›
Field notes from the Pacific Coast (day 3 of 40)
I cleaned out the refrigerator, what I didn’t think Dawn or the kids would eat while I was gone, put it in a cooler with a freezer pack while I was at work then got it out once I came… Read More ›
They packed the gaps with sand and mud
Old, half-timbered houses with uneven beams buckling and bent into one another like two drunks steadying themselves. Everything on its side, lead pipe handrails caught in their footings, ivy-choked trees. Pale morning birdsong, footpaths leading down the valley ending in… Read More ›
The churchbells on Sunday
I get behind two lesbians in the Italian market, this medieval town in Germany — the market, no bigger than an elevator car, a telephone booth, and I say to the guy behind the counter you can leave the cheese… Read More ›
The first step is to turn the main breaker off
I parse out just enough cat nip for one of the cats to get off, but not both, and let them duke it out like Siamese fighting fish, all hisses and rear leg strokes fanning the guts, fangs, stoned-out faces,… Read More ›
Which is true of anything (for DFW)
It started with the glassy-eyed couple at the lake. They had a dog too. They sounded like they used drugs or lived in Northern California, you could tell by the way they talked. The guy said you can teach a… Read More ›
Why the leaves fall
There is an old woman collecting leaves on the sidewalk No one notices what happens to all the leaves They are like days we sometimes save and they can be beautiful, and look like all the rest The days are… Read More ›
Bill Pearse 