The Architecture of Absence
In the high, thin air of the mountains, the world often decides to withdraw. It pulls a curtain of grey across the valley, erasing the horizon and the familiar landmarks that tell us where we stand. We are taught to fear this loss of visibility,…
The Weight of Stillness
I keep a small, smooth stone in my pocket, worn down by years of nervous thumbing. It came from a riverbed I visited as a child, a place that no longer exists in the way I remember it, having been redirected by concrete and industry long ago.…
The Tide Will Tell
I spent this morning trying to organize my bookshelf, pulling out old notebooks I haven't touched in years. I found a grocery list tucked into a journal from three summers ago, written in my own handwriting, items I don't even remember needing…