Editorial Staff

Sometimes, it is just a question of getting where we know the path will lead, but slowly.

A bee finds the lone flower in a field of weeds, a patch of sunlight slants its way into the deep forest and a cellist’s bow finds exactly the right note.

I presume to tax my unexcused absences. I hide in my hoodie. I miss game nights that bond people. I glob on crazy glue. I hand-write fluorescent encouragement and decorate tenderness with stickers.