Windows of the World

“Isolation is the sum total of wretchedness to a man.”
             — Thomas Carlyle

Winter is the season of isolation — of the hibernation of beasts, of our own personal retreats into the recesses of our minds and hearts. Who hasn’t favored a misanthropic evening in the safe recesses of our hovels over the idea of trudging out into public and withstanding another bout of post-holiday gloom? Who wouldn’t opt for the warm fires of solitude when we glimpse the frost just outside our windows? (Whether this frost is of the bone-chilling, minus-Celsius type, or that of the current social or cultural malaise, is a matter of perspective.)
But as this is a winter/spring issue, we wear a resolute face, remind ourselves that the fresh air of a new season will soon be upon us and sound the clarion call: time to say hello to the world in all its terrifying variety whether we wish to engage it or not.
In that spirit, we present this issue as one might present a hearty bowl of soup on a snowy night: as some-thing that might provide a little comfort, or perhaps even steel our courage as we decide to saunter into the grim winds outside. After all, the seasons wait for no one.
Sometimes the act of punching through our solitudes is as perversely simple as punching someone in the mouth, as Jim Hart aptly demonstrates in “Funny Face.” Our quests for connection may stretch over physical and emotional geographies, as they do in R.T. Castleberry’s and Doug Ramspeck’s travel-poem cycles. Attempts to embrace the landscapes outside our windows may turn us inside out, when we recognize an inner dread that knows no boun-daries, as in Wayne H.W. Wolfson’s “Ghost in the Window.” If we’re in the mood for something more profane — and picaresque — we may hope to join in the adventures of Gwydion M. Hastur’s hapless travelers in “Footprints on the Minge.” Or we may be led to more sinister under-currents, as in Christopher Bernard’s “The Photographer’s Face.” On the flip side, Llyn Clague’s “Song of Private Property” is a piquant warning on the dangers of isolation, while Thomas Robert Barnes’ “Bearing” is a wry glimpse of what happens when serendipity decides to intrude. 
Whether together or alone or together alone, we hope this missive from the wilds finds you in healthy spirits for the year ahead, and that these words on paper (or pixels on computer screens, if you happen to be visiting our web-site) are the filaments that set the lights of communication, commitment, and creativity burning.
     				                       — Ho Lin