The Weight of the Wind
To hang in the air is not the same as flying. It is a negotiation with gravity, a slow, patient argument held in the currents above the salt and the stone. We watch from the ground, tethered by our own heavy bones, and imagine that to rise…
The Silence of Stone
In the quiet hours of the morning, before the kettle whistles or the house begins its daily creaking, I often think about the nature of absence. We are so conditioned to look for what is present—the clutter on the desk, the stack of books,…
The Weight of Air
The smell of damp earth after a long drought is a heavy, velvet thing that clings to the back of the throat. It is the scent of anticipation, of soil waking up to the promise of rain. I remember the feeling of standing in a field, the tall…