The Hum of Hidden Things
The smell of damp earth after a sudden monsoon rain is a heavy, velvet thing. It clings to the back of the throat, tasting of minerals and ancient, rotting leaves. I remember the feeling of walking barefoot through that mud as a child, the…
Where the Earth Ends
If we were to walk until the ground beneath our feet simply refused to continue, would we find an ending, or merely a beginning we were not prepared to witness? We spend our lives tethered to the familiar, measuring our existence by the walls…
The Weight of Small Hands
I was folding laundry this morning when my youngest niece climbed onto the sofa, dragging her heavy, oversized blanket behind her. She didn't ask for help. She just sat there, wrapping her arms around her baby doll, patting its back with a…