Yes, life is worth living, but less so without the morning paper laid out on a sheet of rustling newsprint, clutched at eye level. As the Bible says, somewhere, mine is a voice crying in the wilderness, but I feel sure there are others sharing this wilderness.

From this lament, readers can guess my age pretty closely and perhaps the years when the paper was my morning companion on the commuter train, lurching toward my job. But even after the job and train were history, the paper adapted itself to my less urgent life and slower brain. Its electronic successor, glaring from my computer screen, and the TV news are failed substitutes for rustling newsprint. (Don’t bother me with advice and the holes in my argument.)

I realize there are morning newsprint papers with a global reach, but at the expense of learning about local concerns, such as offensive junkyards down the road, or out-of-control firehouse construction costs. Wistfully, I long to open my front door and be greeted by white newsprint with black headlines, inviting me to look within for further enlightenment and silent conversation with writers about our world.

William Sayres
Topsham