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July 2013, vol 9, no 2

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Warren Gossett

Reflections in the Reeds

A breeze weaves through bulrush and cat-tail, carrying the scent of Russian olives in bloom. The marsh is alive with flights of redwings, yellow-headed blackbirds and marsh wrens. The sounds of birds and insects are everywhere.

a hawk spirals down
the updraft

My brother and I used to put in at this very spot. He died two years ago and I remember his quietness, his calm. I miss him. I was always looking for something else. Discontented. I've learned to slow it down, however, enjoy life as it's happening – perhaps I'm becoming more like him. I could do worse. Now if I can paddle the pond on my own.

in a canoe's wake
the ebb and flow
of clouds