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Armed Only With Flashlights
We cross the yard in flip flops and cotton pajamas,
our toes, bare and cool, in the stars in the dew,
on a summertime slug hunt.
My children's flashlight beams criss-cross like swordplay
on fence and house, until we settle into the garden's cool night air,
crouching low, seeing into another world. We balance
the first voluptuous slug on a twig tip and flip it into the alleyway,
oohing and aahing at its glistening trail.
Gary Winans has lived in Seattle for 15 years. He is an avid gardner, boardsailor, and swimmer.
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