Wood poppies join the sweet woodruff. Forget-me-nots crowd the periwinkle.
It's compressed, intense, riotous. It's spring, finally.
"When everything else has gone from my brain ... what will be left, I believe, is topology: the dreaming memory of land as it lay this way and that." Annie Dillard
"If Grass had not been living with this wretched little skeleton in his closet, he might never have written a word," journalist Nathan Thornburgh wrote in Time magazine in 2006. "Instead a haunted Grass cranked out a series of brutal novels about the war [that] helped his entire country stave off collective amnesia for decades."Such is the power of art to wound, to salve, to ignite, to free.