A dog barked, a toddler spoke, the lake lapped and the wind chimes came, the breeze through the trees made a sound like dried corn husks. The light is different, we had the heat on in the car this morning… Read More ›
writing
The last days before the equinox
Fall’s moody shadows, pine needles, leaves: all that starts from above one day will drop, past the mountain peaks Jack Kerouac walked, they probably looked the same to him too, it’s hard to believe those photos of people in the… Read More ›
Ghost house gun control exit
The life of a housewife, a house-husband chiseling away at the laundry, a Greek myth rolling a boulder uphill only to be crushed by it again day-in, day-out: strict rules enforced in the refrigerator with shelves devoted to dairy, to… Read More ›
The January of summer
I cooked a chili and thought about starting a fire inside. July is the January of summer, right smack in the middle, that can last as long as you want it to depending on your attitude, and whether or not… Read More ›
Birdsong reports before dawn
We set the coffeemaker to go off at 3 and it did. I got back from the airport before 5 and walked to the lake in the rain without an umbrella to see if anything happened and my friend Tim… Read More ›
Faces in the driftwood the color of bone
At the Starbucks in Aberdeen on the Washington peninsula halfway to the coast with the kids and Ginger, the condiment bar a shit-show, the aftermath of a frat party, a scene from Weird Science but with milk stains and sugar wrappers and… Read More ›
That one year in Europe
And just like that, it was over. Beth asked the kids if they wanted some eggs for breakfast with toast and jam and they did, and we made small talk, and I reminded them of the time, and they were… Read More ›
Deceiver Trail to Far Country Lookout
I took the Deceiver Trail, the S3, past the Licorice Fern cul-de-sac to a crumpled-up viewpoint where there wasn’t much to see but it sounded nice with the water collecting in a dark pool by a leaning sign, Far Country… Read More ›
Perfect from now on
I got an email from Loren at work complaining about Gilles, the fact he kept walking around Loren and Christine’s apartment in just his bath towel, that it was bumming Christine out as Loren put it — and I pictured… Read More ›
The heart lies somewhere I can’t reach
We woke this morning to wet snow on the cherry blossoms outside and on the roofs, people with umbrellas, the smell of someone burning something, probably the stone bake house up the road. Dawn got the kids up though I… Read More ›
Bill Pearse 