The Hum of Distant Gold
The smell of cold iron always brings me back to the winter of my seventh year. It is a metallic, sharp scent that clings to the back of the throat, like the taste of a frozen railing on a playground. I remember the way the air felt against…
The Weight of Waiting
We spend our lives waiting for something to arrive, or perhaps for something to leave. We stand on corners, hands in pockets, watching the gray light settle over the pavement. It is a quiet labor. There is no urgency in the way the shadows…
The Hum of Passing Time
The smell of damp wool and wet pavement always brings me back to the city at dusk. It is a heavy, metallic scent, like coins pressed against a warm palm. I remember standing on a street corner, the vibration of the ground traveling up through…