by Warren Gaston | Sep 13, 2019
In my garden among trees looking up, I see leaves searching for sun, brown boughs bending toward light intelligent oak.
by Warren Gaston | Sep 8, 2019
for Katherine Walking at Sandy Ridge Pond, joe-pye and rag weed stiff against summer’s last breeze, cattails and egrets and geese, a line of dead wood trees, a standing scrawl of calligraphy, turtles, bodies sunk in muck, thrust green necks forward, ignoring danger,...
by Warren Gaston | Sep 3, 2019
At night after the crickets, after the last birds, silence and darkness creep from lilac boughs. In the still dark, the lilac scent remains.
by Warren Gaston | Sep 1, 2019
It is now September, the ninth month of the calendar year and I am sad. For the last 31 days I have feasted on the feel of forming ‘8’ as I write the day’s date on each notebook page. I relish the ease of figure 8 ‘o’s, my pen gliding across paper in curved circles...
by Warren Gaston | Aug 30, 2019
In the meantime between nothing and nothing~ I am eating a slice of blueberry pie. I am on the phone with the gas company. I am scratching an itch behind my ear. I am raking fall leaves from my garden. I am watching the news on tv. I am thinking of something I have...
by Warren Gaston | Aug 19, 2019
Climbing Mount Everest in flip flops is a bad idea. Less than ten feet up you realize your mistake. You can turn back, send away for boots and wait, or you can fly to a south Florida Gulf coast beach where boots would be the poorer choice and flip flops would be...
