March 8, 2011
Salt on the Tongue
The air near the water always tastes of iron and wet rope. I remember the feeling of sand, not as a surface...
Category Archive
Reflections
March 7, 2011
The Grit of Stilled Time
The smell of dry iron and sun-baked dust always brings me back to the edge of a track that leads nowhere. It...
March 7, 2011
The Weight of the Plains
There is a particular kind of silence that exists only where the earth meets the sky without interruption. It is not an...