top of page

Smells Like Spring!

The smells are coming back to life. Getting that first whiff of spring—wet, mildewy and cool—always feels like stepping into childhood. Despite all the melting and dirty snowbanks, the birds in the trees seem to sing louder. Beneath the earth plants are getting ready, putting on rouge and green mascara to take center-stage in a month or so. Creation is buzzing to be reborn. Right now is all about feminine potential in everyone, as the whole of the northern hemisphere prepares to flourish out of sleep.

Peace and Love,

Mayan Godmaire

Creative Writing Editor

A Walk in the Plateau

By Olavo De Macedo Collins

The neighborhood in the morning soothes me

like a weighted blanket,

As my mind wanders along gymnopedie.

When the music stops, the birds replace Erik Satie.

A spruce tree has gone yellow.

Why? Botanical mystery.

Passing me, a cat walks by, nonchalant.

Then! Tweets from the trees. Ears perked.

They didn’t like the last one I brought home.

The breeze breathes into my coat,

Surreptitiously snuggles my warmth,

Finds a spot beneath my zipper,

And takes a nap.

Marie's Crush on the Angel Gabriel

By Mayan Godmaire

Creative Writing Editor

A vision: gray stone,

Sunlight on all six walls.

She saw him

—E-major 7, mist alight—

And she sunk into her flesh

like a peach rotting on a branch.

The orchard musk rose about her:

C-major, full.

He set a fever-haze glimmering

In her sodalite eyes.

And communicated a right hand

On her softly swelling belly:

Blackberry Marie.

When the mist cleared

There were bite-marks

In the apple of her heart.


By Morgana Follman


It is with an ancient eye

And a tired, heavy heart

That my soul saddens, and grows old

At the sight of such disturbing

And childish threats.

It is by the pride and

By the lust of money

That eagles, lions, dragons, bears, tigers all the other animals

Too long locked in zoos

—Thirsting for wilderness in their lives—

Learn how to play chess

And loudly bark behind gates,

Too afraid to step out,

To feel bloody scratches and bites.

They’re going around, and around at each other’s tails,

Too coward to go at each other’s throats:

But playing a game of whom roars louder.

As the Earth quakes.

As homes burn, sink, rip,

And disappear

As they descend into the ground,

What will be left of us?

No gold, no guns, no reputation

Is worth a life.

Imagine billions



bottom of page