PAUL CHRISTENSEN

As the world rages to our east, and the fires flare up in Arizona, we have the first signs of spring – dark green spikes, crumbly surfaces around certain roots, the silent grunting of birth as the ground trembles with birth pangs. Wild blossoms are beginning to swell up inside their buds and to ease small cracks in their jackets. It’s exciting; it makes you kneel down in reverence at all these events as they occur in their modesty. The work goes on no matter the threat of new

The weather here reminds me of Robert Eggers’ recent film, The Lighthouse, about a world of gloomy overcast skies and penetrating New England cold. There is no sea nearby, but I can feel the sodden inertia of this hinge season, with tiny sprouts struggling to endure the chill while pushing up their green banners into the indifferent air. I dutifully armor myself with an old cardigan, now partly unraveled at the button holes and sprung at the elbows, but serviceable as another