The Pace of the Fields
I remember a morning in a village outside of Luang Prabang where the road simply gave up on being a road and turned into a muddy track. I was walking behind a farmer who was leading a water buffalo by a frayed rope. We didn't speak—my Lao…
The Silence of Still Water
I remember sitting by a fountain in a courtyard in Seville, watching a man try to photograph his own reflection in the basin. He kept moving his head, trying to align his face with the stone arches behind him, but the slightest breeze would…
The Rings of Time
I remember walking through the woods behind my grandfather’s house in Suffolk. He stopped by a fallen oak, its trunk split open like a heavy book. He ran his calloused thumb over the rings, tracing the years of drought and the years of rain.…