The Weight of Silence
We spend our lives moving through spaces, watching the world blur against the glass. There is a specific kind of solitude found in transit, a suspension between where we have been and where we are going. In these moments, the mind retreats.…
The Weight of the Dark
There is a specific kind of hunger that only arrives when the sun leaves. It is not a hunger for food, but for the friction of other bodies, for the sound of breath against the cooling air. In the north, we retreat behind glass and wool. We…
The Bruise of the Sky
The air before a storm tastes like wet copper and ozone, a metallic tang that settles at the back of the throat. It is a heavy, static-charged pressure that makes the fine hairs on my arms stand up, as if the atmosphere itself is reaching out…