by Warren Gaston | Mar 7, 2019
Snow bends dry winter weeds. I remember my death quite clearly, it will be in the future, like every live person I know. I think on a Sunday, the fourth Sunday in March, the month of my birth, eight decades past my single first day. To be born into time, this I have...
by Warren Gaston | Feb 24, 2019
Sitting in a booth in Irv’s Mountain View Café, Columbia Falls, Montana, 1959, I was faced with choices: food, drink & song, each for a price, a cola, burger, fries, and the jukebox, a high caloric intake for the gut & ear. A quarter for doo wop or good old...
by Warren Gaston | Feb 23, 2019
Our cat Matisse stretches on the floor long, lean, luxurious, as if being pulled by opposing forces nose tugged away from tail just to the snapping point, lengthening, curving until he is a fury apostrophe displaying poise and grace. The pulling comes from forces...
by Warren Gaston | Feb 22, 2019
If I say ‘if’, a condition is placed. There will be consequences. If these demands are not met, if it doesn’t rain, if you loved me, if you do that one more time, if we lived in the best of all worlds, if two cars drove straight toward each other, one at 20 one at 40...
by Warren Gaston | Feb 19, 2019
Ted and Sarah live near a silky sand beach. They never go to the beach, a convenient ten minute drive. They could go. But they don’t. They do not discuss going on a sunny day and decide not to go. The question doesn’t come up. What prevents them from enjoying...
