The Weight of Small Hands
I was folding laundry this morning when my youngest niece climbed onto the sofa, dragging her heavy, oversized blanket behind her. She didn't ask for help. She just sat there, wrapping her arms around her baby doll, patting its back with a…
The Weight of the Day
I remember a morning in a small village outside of Luang Prabang where the air felt heavy with the scent of damp earth and woodsmoke. I watched a young boy, no older than ten, walking along the roadside with a bundle of grass strapped to his…
Gravity is Only a Suggestion
I remember a summer in Marseille when I watched a group of boys jumping from the old stone pier into the harbor. They didn't look at the water; they looked at the sky. There was a specific, fleeting second at the apex of their leap where they…