The Breath of Small Things
The taste of summer always arrives as a fine, dry grit on the tongue, the kind that settles after a long walk through tall, sun-baked grass. I remember the sensation of my palms pressing into the earth, the soil cool and damp beneath the surface,…
The First Stroke
I spent this morning cleaning out my desk drawer, the kind of task I usually put off until it feels like a chore. I found a box of old crayons, their tips worn down to flat, rounded nubs. I picked up a bright blue one and just held it for a…
The Mirror of Silence
I spent this morning trying to fix a leaky faucet in the kitchen. It was a small, persistent drip that had been driving me crazy for days. I kept turning the wrench, getting frustrated, and making a mess of the floor. Finally, I just stopped.…