Reflections

August 3, 2014

I remember sitting in a small, damp grotto off the coast of a different island, watching the tide pull away from the...

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August 3, 2014

There is a language spoken only by the falling, a roar that eventually softens into the quietest of sighs. We often mistake...

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August 3, 2014

In the quiet hours of the morning, before the house wakes, I often find myself staring into the surface of a tea...

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