The Edge of the Tide
The ocean does not care for the arrival of the sun. It has been moving in the dark for hours, a rhythmic, heavy breathing against the sand. We stand at the edge, waiting for the light to confirm what we already know: that the world is vast,…
The Map of Time
We often look at a face and see only the surface, forgetting that every line is a record of the sun, the wind, and the seasons that have passed over it. To age is to be written upon by the world. Each crease is a path, a memory of a day spent…
The Shiver of Stillness
The air tastes of iron and wet wool, a sharp, metallic bite that settles deep in the back of the throat. I remember the feeling of walking onto a frozen pond, the way the soles of my boots felt thin, as if the ice were a fragile skin stretched…