In lethal, beautiful, blue-white cold, the kind of cold that sharpens the edges of buildings and turns every random industrial smoke-puff into an offertory to heaven, the Black Seed Writers Group entered its third year. Human heat is what we need- in the form of readers, feedback, renewed subscriptions to The Pilgrim. Paul has more to say on this topic. In the meantime let me commend to you our twentieth issue, in which Jeffry slips into reverie on Boston Common, Jeigh pulls his hair out, and Margaret echoes the words of the great poet Gerard Manley Hopkins: "My own self let me have more pity on."
We welcome to our pages Holly, Andrew, Nat, Ned, Demetri, and Anthony, and we rejoice in the return of Mardi Boudreaux. And Miss Bartlett.