I have always said — and believed — that I am no gardener. I am not moved to take action by legions of snails in the hostas. Our surrounds are a chaos of dandelions, wild thyme, violets and moss.

There’s an old Greek myth about a king named Sisyphus who was condemned by the gods to an eternity of futile labor. His punishment was to push a heavy boulder up a hill, only to watch it tumble back ...

Nov. 15—Sitting here at this cluttered desk, I watch as the day seems to come on without a sunrise. The ashen sky simply becomes lighter without that penetrating color that is usually framed by my ...