The Echo of Painted Shutters
I keep a small, rusted tin box filled with mismatched buttons, each one a relic from a garment long since surrendered to the moths. There is a deep indigo button from a winter coat I wore when I was seven, and a translucent, pearlescent one…
The Weight of Upward
There is a specific ache in the back of the neck that comes from staring too long at the heavens. It is a physical surrender, a pulling of the spine until the skin at the nape feels tight, like a drumhead stretched thin. I remember lying on…
The Path Before the Threshold
There is a particular grace in the moments before we arrive. When we travel toward a place of great significance, we often carry the weight of expectation, our minds already dwelling on the destination. Yet, the road itself is a sanctuary of…