Submitting to literary journals is a bit like scattering
seed into dusk, hoping for beetle-bright wings
to arise out of that seemingly dormant patch
of ground that you can’t really see in the fading light.
In December, deer keep their distance, coats greyed,
until one day, you glance—out of habit, more than faith
—at the space where earth should break only to discover
your larvae sprung: a verifiable kaleidoscope
of butterflies, a hallelujah chorus, an aurora borealis
of words and images. Congratulations to our contributors
who have waited with such patience for this incarnation
(the tenth!) of Glint Literary Journal. And to our new
and returning visitors, welcome to our patch of light
where we hope you will linger long amid travelers
and penitents, malcontents and celebrants.
May our prayers and our predators delight.