Greg Tonian, 2017 –
The Trinity River Valley of North Texas drew us all here,
Though we did not realize it.
We may not know how or why,
Perhaps it was for a glimpse of a Buckeye?
John Neely Bryan built a cabin on a Trinity River bluff
He founded Dallas in the 1840’s.
Dreams were grand, but times were tough.
When I drove out in ‘85, I asked myself,
Where are all the trees?
Sally Evans, 2006; Founder & Emeritus Leaves are fluttering down; Butterflies are fluttering around; Hummingbirds are fluttering as they nectar. Lizards are sunning; Squirrels are running; Red lilies are stunning… Read More →
Greg Tonian, 2017
The neighborhood is abuzz.
A hot, sultry breeze,
Envelops the trees.
Brown, papier mache creatures climb out of the loam,
Clinging to brick and branch with tiny hooks,
Soon to cleave asunder,
Extruding,
winged phantasms.
I find these abandoned climbing nymph husks,
And the fanciful flying creatures that they set free
Scattered on the concrete byways of Cicadia.
“Sweet dreams and” Flying “machines in pieces on the ground” (James Taylor),
I think to myself.
Greg Tonian, 2017 The Chattahoochee flows from Blue Ridge Mountain
To Apalachicola Delta,
Past Helen and Suburban Atlanta.
These two places I visited,
The possibilities to explore, unlimited.
All was swell in Roswell.
Mostly Merry in Marietta.
Dallas Georgia family, also near,
Was mostly in the clear.
But like the river,
Clouded by ocassional rain,
Like the area roads,
Never without curves and dips,
Ups and downs.
By Sally Evans, Member Emeritus and Class of 2000. A cotton tailed rabbit in my garden dwells, lifting its nose to smell the smellsAnd lifting its ears to hear the… Read More →
By Sally Evans, Founder and Emeritus THEN: By the time anyone reads this epistle the Backyard Bird Count will be over, the Great Winter Storm will be over, Valentine’s Day… Read More →
By Greg Tonian
On a December morning, soon before your demise,
I journeyed to the Grasslands again.
Enroute, warm in my metallic hovercraft,
I drove in the dark, listening to news of vaccines.
Only arriving at Black Creek Lake as the sun began to reveal a vaporous, hoarfrosted tangled landscape,
With hues of copper, silver, golden straw, ghostly gray charcoal turning to brown.
Delicate oak leaf puzzle pieces were scattered in slight depressions in the parking lot,
Birdsong echoed intermittently through the chilly air.
