Salt on the Skin
The air near the water has a weight to it, thick with the sharp, metallic tang of brine and the damp rot of driftwood. I remember the way the heat used to press against my shoulders, a heavy blanket that smelled of coconut oil and sun-warmed…
Where the Earth Unravels
In the study of geography, we are taught that a coastline is a line—a definitive, sharp boundary between the solid and the fluid. But if you stand long enough at the threshold where the tide meets the silt, you realize that the map is a lie.…
The Spiral of Stone
We build to keep the wind out. We stack stone upon stone, creating chambers where the air grows heavy with the weight of centuries. There is a desire in us to reach upward, to twist our path toward the light, as if the act of climbing could…