The Weight of Water
There is a stillness that precedes the movement of water. A bird dips its head, and for a second, the surface is not a boundary but a mirror of intentions. We spend our lives trying to keep our feet dry, forgetting that we are mostly water…
The Weight of Migration
I keep a small, rusted key in a velvet pouch, though I have long since forgotten which door it once opened. It is heavy for its size, a cold weight that reminds me of the places we leave behind and the doors we eventually find locked to us.…
The Weight of Stillness
I spent this morning trying to scrub a stubborn stain off my kitchen floor. I was frustrated, scrubbing harder and harder, until I finally stopped and realized the floor was never going to be perfectly clean. It is an old house, and the wood…