The Breath of High Places
The air at that altitude tastes like cold iron and silence. It is a sharp, thin sensation that scrapes the back of your throat, leaving behind the metallic tang of snow that has never known the warmth of a valley. I remember the feeling of…
Flowers that bloom
Look back at the path you have taken.
You may see some flowers along the way.
Some were planted by others, and some by you.
How many flowers shall bloom, is not up to me or you.
It is only the Almighty knows, the Bestower of all forms.
Along…
The Weight of Silence
I spent this morning trying to organize my bookshelf, pulling out volumes I haven't touched in years. I found a pressed flower inside a dusty journal, and for a second, I just sat on the floor, holding it. It felt heavy, not because of the…