April is the cruelest month, according to T.S. Eliot, and so it might be. It is a month of dashed hopes. One day is summer like and the next we are back to winter. This April may be particularly cruel for those who feel trapped inside by the quarantine--worn out by worry and trying to... Continue Reading →
Gardening and Writing
Writing is often compared to gardening. In both endeavors, one starts with something very small—an idea or a seed—nurtures it, cares for it, weeds around it, and hopes that it will grow and flourish. As I began cleaning up my garden, today, I was reminded of a poem by Gerard Manley Hopkins, especially the second... Continue Reading →