The Week the Cowslips Returned
A child brings his mother cowslips. In the middle of a struggle over authorship, a small gift becomes a witness to what is rooted, what is living, and what remains one’s own.
A child brings his mother cowslips. In the middle of a struggle over authorship, a small gift becomes a witness to what is rooted, what is living, and what remains one’s own.
A toddler’s bad morning changed our plans for the Boston Marathon. Thirteen years later, an old newspaper brought the afternoon back, along with a question that relief alone cannot answer: what do we owe one another when we get to go on living?
Some years are visible only in retrospect. What looked like a series of small decisions in 2025 was really a change in direction: toward greater visibility, harder truths, and a life increasingly unwilling to make itself smaller.
I learned Swedish, raised a family, became a citizen. Still, speaking the language did not mean being trusted with the keys. From the United States to Sweden and Åland, a story of belonging, exclusion, and what a society must do to deserve the people who choose to stay.
Fires don’t stop at national lines. Rising seas don’t respect fences. What does safety mean when the threats cross borders, but our protections do not? A climate march address on ecology, dignity, and the responsibility to act.