The Weight of Leaving
I spent this morning watching a single leaf drift down from the oak tree in my yard. It didn't fall straight; it danced, caught in a draft I couldn't feel, before settling into the grass. It made me think about how much of our lives are spent…
The Weight of Leaving
It is 3:14 am. The house is holding its breath, and I am finally listening to the silence I spend all day trying to drown out. There is a specific kind of ache in watching things move away. We spend our lives building walls, planting roots,…
The Weight of the Bloom
Winter is a long forgetting. We learn to live with the grey, the muted tones of stone and sky, the way the world pulls its energy inward to survive the frost. Then, the thaw. It does not arrive with a shout. It comes in small, quiet shifts—a…