Leath Tonino seems like a nice-enough guy, but that doesn’t mean he should be trusted around facts. In his March 2026 essay, “Eating Free,” he claims to be nearly positive that his grandma’s friend, who gave him homemade chocolates for Christmas thirty-some years ago, was named Dotti. Well, according to Tonino’s father, the woman’s name was actually Dolly.
I’d like to see more of Tonino’s work in The Sun, but maybe keep him on a tighter leash in the future? He’s a bit of a mess. It would be a big mistake to leave someone like him in charge of a parakeet for the weekend, let alone a paragraph of so-called nonfiction.
As I flipped through the newly arrived March 2026 issue of The Sun, I quickly glanced over Adrian Newcombe’s photo essay “Plastiscenes” and wondered why the editors chose to devote so many pages to pieces of plastic.
This morning, though, I received The Sun’s email newsletter featuring Newcombe’s photos and found myself compelled to take a second look. It sounds trite to say, “A picture is worth a thousand words,” but when I clicked through and saw the seascapes layered on top of the garbage, I found myself sobbing.
When I was going through a period of self-discovery in my late teens and early twenties, a close friend introduced me to David Berman’s poetry collection, Actual Air. That book, along with the music of Arvo Pärt, followed me everywhere for the next several years. To me, Berman and Pärt were seers, and their work felt prophetic. I recommend them frequently to this day.
Berman’s name stood out to me as soon as I opened the Contributors page of the March 2026 issue [“Selected Poems”]. I caught my breath and slowly exhaled, “Wow.” What a flush of memories.
I’m once again navigating a moment of change and renewal. And I’m grateful to The Sun for such a grounding reminder as I continue this lifelong work of becoming myself.
As a journalist working for a nonprofit publication, I was glad to read Finn Cohen’s interview with Sheila Coronel [“The Fourth Estate,” February 2026]. It touched on topics my colleagues and I grapple with regularly: the evolving ways people access information, the incursion of billionaires into news media, and the gutting of trusted publications. It was particularly fitting that the issue landed in my mailbox the same day that Jeff Bezos’s Washington Post laid off a third of its staff.
I found it interesting that Cohen and Coronel touched on artificial intelligence. I’m staunchly opposed to generative AI models like ChatGPT. Like The Sun, the magazine I work for has explicit guidelines banning their use. But I also think it’s vital to distinguish AI chatbots from machine learning generally.
Cohen and Coronel appear to conflate machine learning with the generative slop that increasingly fills my inbox: fake “pitches” from scammers hoping to publish their hallucinatory “articles” in our magazine. Machine learning, on the other hand, enables computers to sort through and process vast quantities of data, with applications for science, medicine, and environmental protection. It can be used for early cancer detection in patients, for example, and to prevent ships from striking whales. Differentiating these technologies seems a vital part of media literacy.
Erin Wood’s essay “Unruly” [February 2026] really spoke to me. When school and family life were difficult or traumatic for me as a girl, horses—and the people who taught me about them—were my solace, and they became a springboard for the rest of my life. I’m now an equine professional mentoring other young women, and I can see firsthand the powerful connection that exists between girls and horses.
I’m grateful to Wood for so eloquently capturing that relationship, and to The Sun for publishing her captivating piece.
After years of loyal readership, my brain had mapped The Sun’s logo to the top-left corner of the magazine. It lived there. It paid rent and taxes there. It raised a family there. Imagine my distress when I picked up the February 2026 issue and discovered the logo had moved. How dare you? Why?
My eyes wandered the cover like a lost tourist asking strangers for directions. It was chaos.
I’m concerned this sudden change may have permanently voided my brain’s warranty. Shall I threaten you? My hand is dramatically hovering over the “Cancel Subscription” button while I sigh heavily.
Please advise on whether I should expect future relocations.
After twenty-five years in the top-left corner, isn’t a logo entitled to take a little trip now and then? Don’t we all benefit on occasion from a change of scenery?—Ed.
I appreciate all the essays in The Sun, but Moonshine Matthiessen’s “Waterfall” [January 2026] was something else. Her metaphors were perfection; I especially loved when she compared herself, in a state of frenzied arousal, to a “pregnant woman uncontrollably scooping clay into her mouth.” The details Matthiessen shared from her marriage inspired understanding and empathy, alongside rage and horror at the way her husband was treating her, and sadness for all the years she had already lost. The image of a “certain woman,” whose sexuality was truly her own, detaching herself from the author and making choices Matthiessen didn’t dare to make was breathtaking, as was her reappearance at the end of the essay.
I read “Waterfall” aloud to three friends, just to see their faces react. I hope Matthiessen keeps writing.
“Waterfall” is shattering if you have ever been through an abusive relationship. Moonshine Matthiessen’s therapist was prescient to ask about her husband punching walls and breaking things. I hope the author finds the safe, cozy home that she—and her inner “animal”—deserve.
I was involved in the protest movements of the sixties and seventies. Since then I have come to the same conclusion as Bill Miller, who shares in his Readers Write piece that he “grew tired of hearing myself complain and decided that, rather than criticize the leaders I thought were doing wrong, I would work to accomplish a goal I believed in” [“Stirring the Pot,” January 2026]. In closing he asks, “How do we love our neighbors as ourselves?”
I see his question beautifully made manifest in the culture of mutual aid that has arisen out of the horrific events in Minneapolis, Minnesota, this winter. Singing, knitting, sustaining a visible community presence in the streets—these are powerful and accessible acts of resistance.
Every day I ask myself: How can I make a difference in a world of power-hungry, money-grubbing people? What has grown out of the protests in Minneapolis is a heartfelt and commonsense response to despair. When I hear about neighbors showing up for one another, it gives me hope and reminds me that we can choose to redirect our energy into nourishing and healing action.
My mom first introduced me to The Sun when I was in high school, and soon after that, I began gifting a subscription to my grandma. Over the years the magazine deepened our conversations as we exchanged thoughts on topics from infertility to dementia to reincarnation.
Grams passed yesterday at the age of ninety-two. I took today off and let the memory of her voice coax me back into bed with the December 2025 issue, which I opened to her favorite section, Readers Write—this month on “Celebrations.”
I’m grateful to you for helping me slow down and celebrate our family’s matriarch. One day I’ll introduce her great-granddaughter to The Sun.
