The Weight of Earth
There is a particular roughness to the skin of a dried seed that speaks of long silences underground. When I press my thumb against the ridges, I can almost feel the damp, cool dark of the soil it once called home. It is a dry, woody scent—something…
(c) Light & CompositionThe Briefness of Being
There is a particular grace in things that do not intend to last. We spend so much of our lives building monuments, seeking permanence, and trying to hold onto the light as it shifts across the floor. Yet, the most profound truths are often…
The Weight of Unwritten Stories
Why do we assume that the eyes are merely windows, rather than the very rooms where the soul resides? We spend our lives building walls, curating our histories, and shielding the soft, unformed parts of our identity from the scrutiny of the…