Think of these pages as graffiti maybe, and where I have scratched up in a public place my longings and loves, my grievances and indecencies, be reminded in private of your own. In that way, at least, we can hold a kind of converse. –Frederick Buechner I remember how excited I was when I got…

Except for our sky, these early spring days are mostly gray-brown, like weathered wood. The last patches of snow linger on blonde grass and shadowed flowerbeds. No green leaves yet, pink or white froths of blossoms overhead . . . or yellow daffodils popping up in front of the porch lattice. Seems we are at…