The Quietest Kind of Loud
I spent this morning trying to organize my bookshelf, but I ended up just sitting on the floor, staring at the spines. I had a plan to sort them by color, but then I got distracted by a dried leaf I’d tucked into a novel months ago. It was…
The Weight of a Hand
I tripped over my own feet this morning while rushing to catch the bus. It was a clumsy, sudden stumble, and for a split second, I felt completely untethered, like I was falling into the pavement. Then, a stranger’s hand caught my elbow.…
The Weight of Harvest
The smell of damp earth clings to my skin long after the rain has stopped. It is a heavy, sweet scent—the smell of things settling into the soil, preparing for the long sleep of winter. I remember the rough, waxy skin of a gourd under my…