The Weight of Grey
There is a specific, heavy silence that descends when the sky loses its colour, turning the exact shade of a wet slate roof in late October. In the north, we learn to trust this grey. It is not an absence of light, but a distillation of it—a…
(c) Light & Composition UniversitySalt on the Skin
The air at the edge of the day tastes of brine and cooling sand. I remember the feeling of walking barefoot where the tide has just retreated, the ground beneath my toes firm and slick, like cool silk pulled tight over bone. There is a specific…
The Weight of a Morning
I keep a pressed sprig of lavender inside the pages of a book I rarely open, its color long since surrendered to a dusty, muted grey. It is brittle now, a ghost of a garden that existed before I knew how to measure time by the things that wither.…