The Spark of Becoming
In the quiet hours of the evening, when the sun has retreated and the shadows begin to stretch their long, thin fingers across the floorboards, we often find ourselves drawn to the flicker of a flame. There is something primal in this attraction,…
The Weight of Small Things
There is a particular silence that belongs to high places. It is not the absence of sound, but the presence of a cold, thin air that demands everything from the lungs. To exist at such an altitude is to be small. The trees are stunted, the…
The Weight We Carry
I was walking home from the grocery store this morning, struggling with two heavy bags that kept digging into my palms. I stopped for a moment to shift the weight, feeling a bit sorry for myself, when I saw a man ahead of me pushing a cart…