The Weight of a Story
I was folding laundry this morning when I found a button that had fallen off my favorite coat weeks ago. I held it in my palm for a long time, thinking about how many places that coat has been and how many times I’ve worn it without noticing…
The Grit of Bare Feet
The smell of sun-baked earth always brings me back to the feeling of dry dust between my toes. It is a coarse, grounding sensation, the kind that reminds you that you are tethered to the ground, not floating above it. I remember the taste of…
The Dust of Ancient Paths
The smell of dry earth after a long drought is a scent that clings to the back of the throat, metallic and sharp. It is the smell of survival. I remember the feeling of coarse wool against my palms, the way the fibers prickle and itch, a reminder…