The Weight of Looking Up
When I was ten, my grandfather told me that the sky was the only thing that never asked anything of us. We were sitting on the edge of a hayfield in Somerset, the grass tickling our necks, watching the clouds drift toward the coast. He didn’t…
The Path That Waits
There is a quiet wisdom in the way a path disappears into the dark. We spend so much of our lives demanding to see the destination, fearing the uncertainty of what lies beyond the reach of our own small light. Yet, the earth does not rush to…
The Edge of the Known
In the seventeenth century, mapmakers would often fill the empty spaces of their charts with warnings: Hic sunt dracones. Here be dragons. It was a way of acknowledging that the world did not end where our knowledge of it ceased; rather, it…