The Pelican by Kristel SturrusThe Weight of the Sky
When I was seven, my uncle took me to the docks in Port Harcourt to watch the gulls. I remember being struck by how they didn't seem to fly so much as they simply existed in the air, as if the wind were a solid thing they could lean against.…
The Edge of the Day
I often find myself leaning against the iron railing of a bridge near the canal, waiting for that precise moment when the city stops its frantic pulse and surrenders to the dusk. It is a fragile interval, a blink in the day’s long narrative…
The Tortoise by Kristel SturrusThe Weight of Time
The shell is a map of slow miles. It carries the dust of paths long forgotten. We measure our lives in heartbeats, in the frantic pulse of the city, in the ticking of a clock that never stops demanding more. But here, there is no hurry. There…