Springing Forward | From the Editor

The rains came and washed away the last signs of winter, like a bad dream.

Suddenly the days are longer, the winds are wetter, and the air is perfumed with the scent of budding blooms dotted along young black branches.

I've spent the last several weeks trying to remember a version of myself that exists when the weather is warmer. I've been frozen in ice for so long I can hardly recollect.

These days, everything is thawing. Not just my sense and sensibilities, but a small part of the old me returns in bits and pieces as I close the book on my school days.

It's nice to have room in my head for more than just facts and figures. Slowly but surely, I've begun hollowing out space in my head for movies, art, and poetry; the important things that existed deep inside the crevices of my mind before they were etched out by the intricacies of the last two hundred years of economic theory.

It's a sweet sort of thing to be changing along with the seasons. It reminds me of how mercurial life is.

It bobs and weaves. It ebbs and flows. It settles for a bit, and then it's off again.

Well, so am I.