Reflections

November 14, 2016

I once sat across from a cobbler in a dusty shop in Lisbon who spent forty minutes explaining the history of a...

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November 14, 2016

The air before a storm tastes of copper and wet stone, a metallic tang that settles at the back of the throat....

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November 13, 2016

I keep a pressed petal from a wild hibiscus inside the pages of a book I rarely open. It has lost its...

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