Note from the Editors
The seasons are slipping. Is it summer, now, when Ottawans snuggle hot water bottles in June, when my mother's May plantings suffer frost? Is it spring when Glasgow glows with heat that melts into cold rains from one hour to the next?
The seasons are slipping, overstepping their bounds, overspilling their banks. The seasons are fluid, are mixing and changing, blending their colours and features and bidding us marvel at them. And as the sky swithers between sun and cloud, light and dark, warm and cool, so does this issue.
So call it Spring, and let it be a bridging time, a swimming time, a time to take tea among stone dragons and wet witches, to pluck stars from our eyes and cast them sky-ward. Let it be a time of snakes and rivers and wings, fixing the broken and breaking the fixed. Here you will find new words for old feelings, old words with new meanings, and ever and always the waters spilling into the spaces in between, carrying sense back and forth like a metaphor.
Heartfelt thanks go to Galen Dara for this issue's beautiful art, and, as ever, to our brilliant contributors, without whom we would be adrift beneath skies empty of stars.
Breathe deep, dive in, and renew yourselves.