editorial

In his remote shed above a cliff on the coast of Dunvegan, reached through a rough, wooded path and a stony shore along the sea, Alistair MacLeod sat some summers in its bare interior at a simple wooden shelf that served as a desk.

At the age of seventy-seven Alistair MacLeod died as the sun rose on Easter Sunday.

Alistair MacLeod, who won the Dublin IMPAC Prize in 2011, was often in Fredericton.

I drive to Fredericton from Guelph every bridging weekend between September and October to visit my aging parents, to see the tree leaves signal their riotous death-parade along the Saint John River...and I come for poetry too.

What is the poetry of everyday life?

You are never old, fair friends, our readers, as long as summer's near.

Now is the winter of our discontent made glorious by The Fiddlehead Spring Issue

The American novelist and essayist Ralph Ellison

The arrival of summer would appear simple. From an