Editor's Note: Rites of spring

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3.27.12 It rained most of the weekend, but the soft, gray light only amplified the color in the new green leaves that are pushing out from the tips of the fruit tree boughs. The night air smelled like wisteria and honeysuckle, and under the glow of the street lamps, the dogwood flowers looked like they’d been fashioned from alabaster or Easter sugar. If Virginia is for lovers, it is because of the fine, fragrant spring, when the entire world flowers at once and we humans feel profoundly the pubescent possibilities of the season.

I’m a spring baby, a mid-April Aries, perhaps overly given to believing in new beginnings. After all, life is cyclical. My father was born March 22, 1939. I recently read a letter his father wrote to him on his 23rd birthday in 1962. My grandfather, whom I never met, talked about the stock market (a gold venture), world affairs (the formation of the OECD), and offered a fatherly salute. “Even though we argue a lot, we are very close in heart and mind, believe it or not,” the letter said. Later that same year, my father walked the bridge of a ship off the coast of Cuba, waiting for the order to invade. This year, he is in Cuba on vacation with his wife. Happy Birthday, Dad.

At C-VILLE Weekly, we’re experiencing our own fresh start. I’m proud to announce the arrival of a brand new news team, a new arts editor (Tami Keaveny) who has already expanded her section, and a whole new crop of freelance writers (Chris O’Shea’s hip-hop piece in last week’s paper is an example). I’ve been here for nine months now, a significant number in the human life cycle. When I arrived, a bunch of people asked me what my plan for the paper was. My grandfather’s letters remind me that I’m a fifth generation journalist. The plan: Try to live up to that history, finding new beginnings wherever possible.–Giles Morris

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