Tag Archives: William Pearse writer

In the Alps with Eberhard | Size Really Does Matter

We went back to the Austrian Alps and it was the same as it was last time, ending our hike on an old chair lift, coming down the valley with the sound of cowbells and accordion music drifting up, back … Continue reading

Posted in travel, writing, humor, hiking, Memoir | Tagged , , , , | 2 Comments

Dream of forgetfulness in the wake of night

In the papery pre-light of dawn my wings like a honey bee’s begin to break down my body a weight I can’t let go, these words are the weights when they hang here, unsaid.

Posted in identity, poetry, writing | Tagged , , , | 6 Comments

It is the right light to be critical

On Tuesday the moon was still up when I walked to the lake in the morning. I was in the slot, now. Like being at the airport on one of those skywalks when you know you’re about to go time … Continue reading

Posted in identity, Memoir, travel, writing | Tagged , , , , , | 12 Comments

Checking ID at the border between heaven and earth

We sat waiting for the heat to break. They said the record for this day was 103, set back in 2009. That was the day we flew to Germany for our first family sabbatical. In fact we’d gone to Germany … Continue reading

Posted in travel, writing | Tagged , , , , | 9 Comments

One commitment (for August)

In the morning before the sun is up, when the cloud deck makes the light go soft and pale, the grass is the color of straw dried-out and sharp, golden red. The lawn sprinklers wake spitting and cussing, and the … Continue reading

Posted in poetry, writing | Tagged , , , , , , | 14 Comments

A jarful of days

In the corner of my yard in the mid-afternoon heat in my hammock with Pablo Neruda between my legs, my glasses off, bare-chested and unbathed, I think about death: my body a lump in a sack swinging here: all this, … Continue reading

Posted in death, poetry, writing | Tagged , , , , , , | 9 Comments

The life of a dog

The sunset was now 8:51, sunrise 5:39. A thick layer of marine clouds on my morning walk to the lake, suggestion of fall by the gray color tones and ripples around the shore. Leaves starting to fall like a bunch … Continue reading

Posted in identity, Memoir, parenting | Tagged , , , , , , | 19 Comments