editorial

As I prepared to leave for Argentina, a friend offered to lend me her Kindle. It seemed the perfect thing to take to a place where English-language books are in short supply. I graciously – enthusiastically, in fact – accepted her offer and soon powered up the slim little beast. I checked into the Kindle store to purchase the two novels I hoped to read while away. First, I looked for Room by Emma Donoghue only to find it was not available. Next I tried Freedom by Jonathan Franzen. Once again, no deal. So I turned the Kindle off, slipped it into my luggage and was off.

FOR A SHORT TWO-WEEK period every spring, before the leaves burst their buds, the warm spring sun penetrates the deepest nooks and crannies in the small cottage where I live. Its rays illuminate the grit and cobwebs that have accumulated over the long, dark winter. Sparkling dust rises toward the sun as if it was a cobra under a flutist’s spell. For this brief interlude in May, anything seems possible. The barren maples, ash and elms that tower above me don’t obscure the sun or block my view. Swollen leaf buds hold only promise. I can see the forest and the trees.