Chris Cleave

After the war of course it will be like the start of spring, which is always so brilliantly sudden. The leaves will burst back onto the trees and close the gaps between the branches and we shall be startled – shan’t we? – s we are startled at the end of every winter. We shall think: oh, I had quite forgotten there were three livable seasons.

After the war of course it will be like the start of spring, which is always so brilliantly sudden. The leaves will burst back onto the trees and close the gaps between the branches and we shall be startled – shan’t we? – s we are startled at the end of every winter. We shall think: oh, I had quite forgotten there were three livable seasons.

– Chris Cleave –

Everyone Brave is Forgiven

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Faith Baldwin

Look back upon winter with gratitude. Spring is the harvest of the darker months—everything you know starts to grow in darkness. Don’t write and tell me that winter brought you only colds or the ubiquitous virus. Perhaps it did bring those (and to me as well). Who goes through the chilly months unscathed? But it also brought things not to be forgotten—silver moons and snow, brilliant under stars; it brought Christmas and a new year, and to each of us something happy, something unexpected, which was not another problem but a joy. For the pendulum swings; nothing is static; and the road, however long, does turn.

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