The Taste of Green
The smell of crushed clover always brings me back to the damp earth of a childhood garden, where the grass was cool enough to soothe a scraped knee. There is a specific, sharp sweetness to a blade of grass when it is torn—a raw, chlorophyll…
The Mirror in the Wild
We often mistake the forest for a silent place, forgetting that it is a conversation held in whispers, rustles, and the sudden, sharp intake of breath. To look into the eyes of another creature is to realize that our own history is merely a…
The Tether of Home
I was at the grocery store this morning when I saw a toddler let go of his mother’s hand to chase a display of apples. He didn't get far before he stopped, looked back, and grabbed the hem of her coat instead. It was such a small, reflexive…