…it sometimes feels like end of times. All the more do we appreciate the coming renewal, Gordon Lightfoot’s ‘the promise of spring’, as we inject blood red days into winter’s flat palette. Fire, ribbons, roast, sparkle.
To match the mood, reading room presents a poem I wrote with John over the kitchen table, literally passing the paper and pen back and forth, adding a line each. Not a word was edited. And now we don’t know who wrote which line. Something from two nothings.