Editor's Note
I’ve always loved March. Tucked into the seam between winter’s silver and spring’s jade, there is a certain softness in its air, a surreal glint — reflective of the month itself, march, meaning stride or make progress.
Weeks seem to be moving faster and faster with each new year. To capture what I can, I jot down a few odd lines of prose and gush over the word purplette. Most months end omne trium perfectum; this month, for instance, reads ‘misty mornings, warblings, moistness dripping from the wind.’ Looking back, so much has happened between this season and the last: the air dewed with rime then nectar, and the ground, which gooed then greened. And yet these writings I keep stuffed in a drawer beside my desk. They frost the thoughts of yesterday without numbing those of tomorrow.
Such rumination runs along the margins of many pieces in this issue. Whiteness is often used in its spatializing form, mimetic of lingering. With the coming of spring, I find that there is much rebirth accordioned through folds of time: every sunrise, for instance, and every season, every birthday, every first day, every last day. What’s special about spring is its visual manifestation of this renewal, where snow gives way to soil, where buds along boughs furl, unfurl. In creation, this translates to a dimension of language wherein meaning takes shape not as skewered words but as an exhibit of the hands’ makings, organically developing, photographic.
As always, I want to thank you — writers, contributors — for your support. I am eternally grateful to have team members, creators, and readers who support Reverie and make our community such an eclectic collection of writers and artists. Thank you all for being here.
Isabelle Wei
Editor-in-Chief
